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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25191784">Public</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankly_i_miss_paris/pseuds/frankly_i_miss_paris'>frankly_i_miss_paris</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1965, Angst, Fluff, M/M, McLennon, Mid-Beatles Era, Period-Typical Homophobia, Smut, Touring Years, a bit of everything</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:33:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25191784</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankly_i_miss_paris/pseuds/frankly_i_miss_paris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John Lennon and Paul McCartney's relationship had always been interpreted by others as a brotherly bond between the two men. However, one small, quick and fortuneless accident brings this certainty to question.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brian Epstein/John Lennon, Cynthia Lennon/John Lennon, Jane Asher/Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>132</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Nice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First of all: I do not own The Beatles! (slams the computer table). These chapters are a work of fiction.</p>
<p>Hello! This is my first McLennon fic and I'm terribly excited :D I hope you like this first chapter, which is somewhat introductory, and that you stick around to discover what happens next... *misteriously walks away*</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>29th June, 1965.</p><p> </p><p>The direct rays of sunshine disturbed Paul’s much needed sleep. He had been able to finally find a comfortable position in that terrible plane seat and he had even achieved to ignore the unstoppable roar of the motor. However, it seemed like Paul was not going to have that 30 minute kip, at least not if that sunbeam kept bothering him. He was pissed, very pissed. Last night had been an absolute mess, he hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Not a minute, not a second. The italian fans were determined to make a fuss from dusk ‘till dawn, just meters away from the hotel entrance and his room’s window. And, certainly, the italian police was also quite determined on not only doing nothing, but leaving, LEAVING. For fucks sake! Paul betted that if that had happened in London… He surely wouldn’t be so exhausted.</p><p>He placed his hand over his eyes, in a desperate try to block those annoying rays, but, as he did so, a very well known hand put down the window’s blind. ‘Smart’ Paul thought.</p><p>“Hey” John said as he sat next to Paul.</p><p>“Mhmm” Paul moaned in response. “Let me be, John, I’m trying to sleep here.”</p><p>“Well, seems like you’re not being very successful at it.”</p><p>“Thanks to you, that’s for sure.” Paul answered, as he gave John a gentle nudge.</p><p>The older one giggled at his sight. “What’s wrong with you? You look like shite.”</p><p>“Didn’t sleep much, that’s all.”</p><p>“Why’s that? Busy night, last one, ‘ey?”</p><p>“Well, not real-”</p><p>“Busy, meaning busy banging one of those italian girls.” John said and laughed at his own joke. Paul sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for John’s humour at the moment. “Man, they say they’re like fire. Gotta try one of those. Nothing compared to our british, well mannered, and close-legged ladies.” John stopped as a wide grin appeared on his face. “And certainly nothing compared to you.” John whispered while pinching at Paul’s chest.</p><p>“Sod off, Lennon” Paul said and faced the window in a desperate try to hide his more than evident smile. The older one chuckled and looked at his very best friend with loving eyes. He really liked teasing the lad, it was great fun. </p><p>John stared at the bassist’s profile for a bit longer, lost in his features... Examining every inch, every freckle, every dimple, his nose, his lips. In a sudden, Paul turned around and found John’s gaze, they both smiled. Paul loved that intimacy, just a glance and he practically knew what was running through John’s mind, most of the times. Unfortunately, every once in a while the latter had a breakdown for three main reasons: his mum’s death, being unable to cope with fame or their relationship. That’s when John hid himself, protected himself in that iron armour and Paul had to fight his way to John’s soul again, just like in the early days.</p><p>John’s glance focused on Paul’s left hand, gracefully placed on the seat’s armrest. The rhythm guitarist’s strategically settled his own next to his partners’ and, with his pinky, started subtly rubbing the latter’s hand. Paul inevitably blushed.</p><p>“Dunno if you should do that here.” he said with a smile on his lips.</p><p>“Don’t care.” John murmured.</p><p>Paul looked down and laughed. He shook his head in response: “Cheeky boy, naughty boy.”</p><p>“Naughty indeed.” </p><p>Paul’s eyes drifted from the floor to a place above John’s head, abruptly removed his hand from John’s touch and fixed his hair as an excuse for that sudden movement. John turned around, feeling just a bit, a moderate amount of fear in his soul, wondering what that person might have seen or even if he or she had seen anything at all.</p><p>“Hi, Brian.” John greeted, letting go all of the anxiety.</p><p>“Hello, boys. I need you back there, with the other two, for a minute, okay?” the manager said, with worried eyes, pointing at George and Ringo, who were standing at the end of the hallway.</p><p>“Is everything alright?” Paul asked, seeing Brian’s expression.</p><p>“It is for now, yes. But I do need you to come with me. Now.”</p><p>“Yeah, sure. Let’s go.” John quickly left his seat and waited for Paul to get out too. The bassist lifted himself from the seat and hit the overhead locker with his head.</p><p>“Come on, Paul! You’re going to make it worse.” John laughed.</p><p>“What?” the younger one said as he rubbed his head, trying to make the pain go quicker.</p><p>“The brain damage.” John burst out laughing.</p><p>“Oh, I’m deeply sorry, I’m actually ashamed, your Majesty. Didn’t know I was speaking with the King of bloody comedy.”</p><p>“Yeah, most people get confused too. I always let it go, though. However, I’m not gonna let you get away with that.” John grinned. </p><p>“Oh, yeah? We’ll see.” Paul challenged.</p><p>“John and Paul, you must come at once.” Brian said from the back of the plane.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, we’re coming. The lad here hit his head, he might have lost some brain cells, y’know.” John tried to explain as he neared his other two bandmates.</p><p>“The number comes closer and closer to zero.” George said.</p><p>“Just 4 more to go!” Ringo added.</p><p>“Okay, boys. I’m utterly sorry for this display, it’d be much nicer if we had some chairs or sofas to sit down but I really need to explain to you some important topics that you must bear in mind during our stay in Nice-” </p><p>“Cut the crap, Brian. What’s wrong?!” </p><p>“Manners, John! MANNERS!” George mocked doing an awful impersonation of Mimi.</p><p>Paul shyly laughed, as he was way too tired to just crack another joke and didn’t think Brian would very much appreciate being interrupted again.</p><p>“Come on, I ask you for some seriousness, now!” The manager begged. “There is a problem with security. Apparently, part of the hotel's security guards have decided to go on strike just when one of the current most famous bands sets foot on their country.”</p><p>Paul shivered. Did he listen correctly? Security guards on strike? He couldn’t manage another sleepless night and certainly he wouldn’t be able to perform in front of an audience with barely one or two hours of rest.</p><p>“Bloody french.” John cut Paul’s train of thought. “Can’t do anything right, can they?”</p><p>“So what are we going to do? Will we have anyone protecting us in the hotel? And the gig? What about the gig? Will we have to push them out-stage ourselves?” Ringo worryingly asked.</p><p>“No, sweet Ringo, no.” Brian shyly laughed “There is no problem with the concert. The problem awaits at the hotel, so, even though you will still be protected in a way, please be careful, keep an eye on everyone and expect everything. I just wanted you to be prepared and I’m deeply sorry, that I couldn’t do anything else… I feel-.” Brian sighed. "I feel as if I might have failed you, boys." Being on tour was always bloody stressful, but when you lack security, that’s plain madness, a manager’s worst nightmare.</p><p>“It’s alright, Brian. Don’t beat yourself up, man.” George said as he sweetly rubbed the manager’s arm. “We’re adults, remember? Even though some of us behave like kids we know how to take care of ourselves.” The other three nodded, agreeing with the lead guitarist.</p><p>“Yeah, Brian. Sometimes you can’t fix everything. That’s how it works, y’know.” Paul added.</p><p>“Yes. I know, lads. Thank you, really. About taking care of yourselves, I don’t know much about that but I trust you will behave just the way you must, right?” Brian asked.</p><p>“Take it for granted” John answered.</p><p>“You’re the one who worries me most, Lennon.” Brian confessed “You always do.”</p><p>“It’s within me, can’t do much about that.”</p><p>“Well, try to. For everyone’s sake.” The manager said. “Thank you for listening, boys. I must go now. I'm still trying to hire some private guards... France is incredibly expensive.” </p><p>The musicians chucled lightly. John began to walk away and Paul followed closely, as he was absolutely exhausted, needing to sit down or lie down or whatever, but relax. </p><p>“If a fan starts touching me butt I’ll beat her.” John murmured as he walked.</p><p>“I’ll beat her” Paul whispered.</p><p>“Sure you will.” John grinned.</p><p>“Sure I will” Paul giggled.</p><p>“Hey! You two! Not so fast.” Ringo called them. John and Paul turned around facing the drummer, who held in his hand a deck of cards “Fancy playing some cards with us here?” he added.</p><p>John, whose face was almost resting on Paul’s shoulder looked at the latter, making his nose brush the bassist’s cheek. “What do you say, Macca?” John said, letting Paul smell that weird mix of cigarettes and fruity gum John had as a distinctive scent. </p><p>“No, lads. I‘m sorry, but I gotta get some rest. Last night was an utter mess, y’know… The fans… Just mad, crazy.” Paul tried to excuse himself when he remembered… “But, George you were rooming with me! Were you able to sleep? Unbelievable.”</p><p>“Technically, I was SUPPOSED to be rooming with you.” George answered with a wide grin on his face.</p><p>Paul was somewhat confused and too tired to guess what his bandmate was trying to tell him so he just shook his head, turned around and went on to sit again. John remained there in the middle of the hallway, not knowing who to join.</p><p>“Excusez-moi monsieur, asseyez-vous s'il vous plaît.” a french flight attendant told John as she signaled the plane seats. John frowned not understanding a word, so he just pushed her aside and followed the bassist.</p><p>“Sacrebleu!” she exclaimed.</p><p>“Guess it’s just you and me again” Ringo sat next to George as he shuffled the cards. “Hey, miss, would you mind joining us?” He added, looking at the flight attendant.</p><p>“Incroyable, c’est incroyable.” </p><p>“She’s not in the mood, clearly.”</p><p>“Thank you, George. Didn’t notice. Here, have your cards.”</p><p>~*~</p><p>“Hey, wait.” John grabbed Paul’s wrist trying to catch his attention and he did.</p><p>“What do you want, John?” </p><p>“So you weren’t shagging a girl last night?” </p><p>“Shhh!” Paul thanked it was a private jet and not a commercial plane with 100+ people who could’ve heard that. “No, I didn’t. Tried to tell you.” he added.</p><p>“Well, I’m glad. Never pictured you as a cheater and I’m sure Jane doesn’t either. She wouldn’t be able to cope with it, y’know.”</p><p>“John.” Paul said, interrupting his friend. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“You go and sit by the window.” The bassist pointed at the referred seat. “I won’t go through the same torture again.”</p><p>“Let me take the pain this time, son.” John implied as he made his way to the seat, making Paul chuckle with that obvious reference to their intimate encounters.</p><p>“Thank you.” Paul answered, sitting next to his saviour.<br/>
John faced his bandmate and with a very wide and mischievous smile he said: “You’ll thank me later, okay?” </p><p>Paul smiled and looked at John, right into the eye, and then he focused on his thin lips, that curved. The older one felt warmth spreading on his chest, making him shorten the distance between the two musicians. Paul noticed and couldn’t help but laugh. “Later, Lennon. Later.” he said.</p><p>“I take your word, solemnly.”</p><p>“Okay, okay. Will you let me rest now?”</p><p>“I’ll try my best.”</p><p>“I also take your word solemnly, Lennon.”</p><p>The latter chuckled and stayed silent for a minute or so,staring at the plane’s structure, but boredom soon kicked in. To fight it, he took out a very small notebook and a pencil from his pocket and started doodling...Until something popped up in his mind. </p><p>“Paul, on a scale of one to ten how loud was it in your room last night?”</p><p>“Is that the best you can try?” Paul sighed desperately. “Well, dunno. A solid seven, maybe eight.”</p><p>“And why didn’t you come to my room?”</p><p>“Well, because it only had two beds and the floor still doesn’t seem appealing to me.” </p><p>“You know we both fit in one of those single beds, not the first time that happens.”</p><p>“Yeah, but Ringo was there and… I’d rather talk about this in private, John. Gotta be careful.” Paul lowered the tone of his voice, for argument’s sake.</p><p>“Come on, it’s Ringo. He wouldn’t think anything wicked, he’s not like us.” John whispered, getting closer to Paul.</p><p>“John, I don’t want to risk it. Now sod off and let me sleep, please!” </p><p>“Okay, princess.” John smiled. “Want a night night kiss?” he asked.</p><p>“I’d rather have it later.” The bassist mumbled as he closed his eyes. “Now be quiet.”</p><p>John chuckled and focused again on filling his little notebook’s pages of scribbles, lots of them. Minutes had already gone by and John kept doodling and turning neat pages into an utter creative mess. However, his attention drifted to Paul, whose head had gracefully landed on his left shoulder. The older one smiled at his sight, thinking just how utterly adorable Paul was when he kept his mouth shut.</p><p>“Hey, Macca.” John murmured while lifting his shoulder a bit, but the younger one didn’t move an inch. He had fallen asleep, finally. John looked around making sure no one was close and planted a kiss on his lover’s forehead.<br/>
“Sleep tight, darling.” he whispered.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Little Incident</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all: I don't own The Beatles (but I wish I did). All these chapters are a work of fiction.</p><p>Hello again! I wanted to publish this chapter in a few days, but I just couldn't resist. Thank you all for reading the first chapter, leaving kudos and some comments! You really made my day. I hope you enjoy the second one! ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ringo, George and John looked through the plane’s small window absolutely astonished. They had already landed in Nice and were waiting for the staff to open the doors, however, it didn’t seem like a good idea, at all. Hundreds of fans were waiting outside, literally outside, on the runway and were being pushed back by the airport’s security.</p><p>“The fuck is this? I can’t believe my eyes.” George muttered, shaking his head.<br/>
“If we go out there the kids will rip us apart.” Ringo added.<br/>
“Fuck.” John sighed. He truly couldn’t believe it. When Brian mentioned the lack of security at the hotel, John expected that flaw to remain at the hotel. He was scared. After all, he didn’t know what those girls would do just to reach him, reach them. How were they going to get out without risking it? Were they going to get out at all? Would they go back to England? So many questions he didn’t have the answer to. That’s why he sat up and walked angrily towards the manager.</p><p>“Hey you! What the fuck is all this mess?” John barked, making clear his emotional state.</p><p>“John?” Brian mumbled, shocked.</p><p>“The fuck’s this, Brian? When you said ‘lack of security at the hotel’ I didn’t picture this fucking nightmare. Don’t you know how bloody dangerous this is? If those kids reach us we’re done.”</p><p>“I know, John. I’m quite aware of it and neither did I know that this is what we were going to be facing. It is certainly much more serious than what I first thought. I must have been wrongly informed”</p><p>“Yeah, sure. But, mind to know a thing? You are the bloody manager. And you were and are supposed to, to-, y’know, manage this effin’ mess.”</p><p>“Yes, John, and I am now that I’m aware of it’s danger and seriousness. Indeed, I’ve spoken with the pilot, who’s constantly in contact with ground control, and some cars have been sent to pick us up.”</p><p>“Fucking perfect.” John dryly said as he turned around and walked towards his two bandmates. His anger started to drift away, but the fear wasn’t so keen on leaving. They’d been always escorted and protected: in New York, Miami, London... Fuck, even in Liverpool, their hometown. So, feeling so vulnerable and weak was certainly something John wasn’t used to. It was 4 lads against the world, well the fans outside of the plane, who looked like the world’s entire population, to be fair.</p><p>“Brian said a car’s ‘bout to come to pick us up.” he declared as he sat next to the other two.</p><p>“Great. Guess we won’t have to fight our way out, then.” Ringo chuckled.</p><p>“No, we won’t fight them, we’ll run over them.” George added, giggling at his own joke.</p><p>“Oh, come on, Harrison. Never pictured you as a mass killer!” Ringo exclaimed.</p><p>“Then you don’t know him that well.” Paul said, as he sat next to his bandmates. He had just woken up from a great and very much needed nap which made him feel renewed, just like back from the dead, really. </p><p>“Mornin’” John murmured, looking at the bassist. The latter’s lips were a bit swollen and his dark under eyes were even more evident now, ironically… But, what could you expect, the poor lad had just woken up. </p><p>“Oh look who’s up already? Good morning, Paul! How you doin’?” Ringo gushed with great excitement.</p><p>“I’m alright!” Paul answered.</p><p>“Thank God someone’s fine in this bloody aircraft.” John snapped. </p><p>Paul frowned, unable to understand John’s sudden flare. He could distinguish slight hints of fear in his lover’s eyes, but they were all covered in a thick layer of unjustified anger. ‘Quite typical of John’, Paul thought, as the rhythm guitarist never allowed himself to show any kind of weakness, even though his life could have been easier if he did so every once in a while.</p><p>“What’s the fuss about?” the bassist asked.</p><p>“Look for yourself.” George answered as he pointed to the window.</p><p>Paul did so, blocking the entire window with his head.</p><p>“Jesus Christ.” He murmured as he watched all hundreds of kids being unsuccessfully pushed back by the few security guards. He moved away and faced John, now perfectly getting why he was so afraid.</p><p>“Just saying, I’m not going out there first.” George joked, however with a very serious tone.</p><p>“Push Paul first, he’s the prettiest.” John spat. Indeed he was the prettiest.</p><p>“Yeah, okay.” Paul chuckled  “I’ll go first, but we’re not getting out by foot… Right?” </p><p>“No… John talked with Brian and apparently a car is on it’s way to pick us up.” Ringo replied “So it’s just a matter of minutes, I guess.”</p><p>“Or seconds. Look who’s here.” George had spotted a dark and very small car parked in front of the airplane. “Guess it’s time.”</p><p>The four musicians sat up, each one of them went to get their suitcases and walked towards the door, where Brian was.</p><p>“Boys! I- I was just going to- to tell you that-” the manager stuttered.</p><p>“The car’s here, we know.”  Paul replied.</p><p>“Splendid. Okay, Mal and Neil will walk out first, just in case, and then you will follow. Remember to smile and wave, smile and wave.” Brian insisted. “Sweetheart, we’re ready.” he told the flight attendant, who almost instantly started to open the door.</p><p>As soon as she did a thunderous wave of deafening noise reached the inside of the plane and everyone’s ears. Mal and Neil walked through the door first and started to go down the stairs, being followed by the four lads. When the boys started to wave the fans scream became even stronger and they pushed much fiercely the few men who cointained them. John noticed how a few of them threw a security guard to the floor and ran towards the stairs. Mal and Neil noticed and raced to stop the intruders.</p><p>“Macca, let’s go.” he urged the younger one, while pushing the latter’s back with his hand. The four of them fastly walked down the stairs and got in the car.</p><p>“Lock the doors, lock the doors.” the four said. “Lock the bloody doors, man.” John yelled. But it was too late. The door next to Paul opened in a sudden, the girl behind it grabbed the bassist by his shoulders and shook him in excitement. The poor boy just smiled and stummered: “Hi, girls. Hi.” John, who was sitting by his side, put his arms around Paul’s trunk and held him for dear life. “Fuck.” he hissed.”Let’s go, mate!” he yelled The driver complied and started the car. </p><p>The girl also began to run and didn’t lose her grip to Paul’s shoulders, until Mal caught her and took her away, almost dragging Paul out of the car with her. Thankfully, John’s grasp was stronger and kept Macca by his side. When the girl was well gone, the rhythm guitarist closed the door, as Paul didn’t seem to move. He was shocked, almost paralyzed. John noticed Paul’s hand slightly shaking and held it but the latter quickly removed it.</p><p>“Paul, it’s alright.” John whispered as he held the younger one’s hand, again. And, again, Paul pulled away from his touch.<br/>
“Stop…” Paul’s voice faded. His eyes became slightly watery, so he turned his head and faced the window.</p><p>John noticed and handed him his sunglasses. He knew he couldn’t do much more about it, not in public at least, not in front of their friends or the driver. It hurt, the helplessness really did hurt. He looked up to find George and Ringo staring at him.</p><p>“What?” he mumbled.<br/>
“Is he alright?” Ringo asked.<br/>
“Would you be alright after that?” John barked. “That’s what I thought.”<br/>
“Paul?” George tried to catch his attention.<br/>
“I’m okay, really.” He quickly lied. </p><p>That said, the four lads remained silent for the rest of the ride. John tried to ask the driver where were they going but the man barely spoke english. When the car was parked the driver led the four men to the airport’s conference room, where Brian, Mal and Neil were, trying to calm down the journalists.</p><p>“Fantastic, boys. How are you? I saw the… incident.” Brian told the musicians as he guided them towards the table. </p><p>“We’re alive.” George replied. “At least.”</p><p>“Yes, of course. Who was the one… uhm… how to say it? Harassed?” </p><p>“Paul.” John said.</p><p>“Oh, dear Paul. I’m so sorry. Why did it have to be you? You were already feeling unwell and now this.” Brian sighed. “But, remember that you all still have to answer some of the journalists questions, which might involve this accident. After that we’re off to the hotel and we won’t go out, not by any circumstance. Understood?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Ringo replied.</p><p>“Okay, good luck.” Brian tried to encourage the boys, but evidently failed.</p><p>~ * ~</p><p>“‘For her Majesty’s sake’? Why on Earth would you say something like that?!” Ringo chuckled. They were heading to the hotel, with lifted spirits. The press conference had helped almost all of them to forget the big mess that was the outside at that moment and it had also lasted enough for the sun to had been already setting.</p><p>“What do you care? I just did. I’m that mysterious and unpredictable.” John replied, jokingly.</p><p>George smacked Lennon’s head in a sudden.</p><p>“Hey! The fuck you doin’?” John grumbled.</p><p>“Just wanted to prove that you’re not that unpredictable.”</p><p>John frowned and sarcastically said: “Ha, ha. Very funny, Harrison.” He remained quiet for a second or two and quickly lifted his hand to smack George back. “I am very unpre-!” Harrison caught the other’s hand in the air.</p><p>“You were saying?”<br/>
“Oh, sod off, George!” John mumbled. </p><p>The car stopped at the hotel’s parking lot, where no fan was to be spotted, only some of the staff smoking and taking a break. The four lads picked up their luggage and entered the building through the back doors.<br/>
When they reached the hotel’s hall, they found most of the crew who went with them on tour waiting for Brian, who was speaking with the receptionist.</p><p>“Okay, dear. That would be fantastic, thank you.” The manager said, smiling at the nice lady sitting behind the desk. </p><p>“Let me call Monsieur Bernarde, then.” she replied with a thick french accent. Brian nodded in response and turned around just has he heard the four musicians entering the room.</p><p>“Hello, boys. Real quick now. Here you have the keys for your rooms, which are room 323 and room 326, alright? 3rd floor. Go, fix yourselves up, relax a bit and in half an hour or so Mal and Neil will call you up to go and have dinner.” Brian told the young men as he handed the keys to John and Ringo. “You might want to put on a suit or something elegant because some important french figures are coming to the hotel tonight just to see you.” He added with an implying wink.</p><p>“Which members of all the important french bourgeoisie are going to come here?” Ringo joked.</p><p>“Well, Sophie Hardy, that’s for sure. And maybe…” Brian stopped for a second, as a wide grin appeared on his face. “Maybe Brigitte Bardot will pop by, but I’m not even sure.” The manager assured the oldest beatle.</p><p>George couldn’t believe his ears, did he listen correctly? “Shut up! Brigitte Bardot?!” He exclaimed. “That’s bloody gear, mate! Thank you!” The lead guitarist added while taking a hold of Brian’s shoulders.</p><p>“George, you don’t have to thank me, please.” The manager blushed at George’s touch. “Come on! Don’t waste your time, get ready… For her... Well, for all of us, really.”</p><p>“Yeah, ta!” The youngest beatle smiled at his manager and took the key from Ringo’s hand before storming up the stairs.</p><p>“You think he’ll figure out that the hotel has a lift?” Ringo joked while nudging at Paul’s ribcage. The bassist blinked twice and looked up a bit confused. He wasn’t even listening. “Yes.” He hoped that generic answer wouldn’t get him in much trouble. Ringo laughed back and started to walk towards the lift.</p><p>Paul was usually very cheerful and loved goofing around… However, he was still truly overwhelmed because of what had happened with that fan in the car. He thought silly of himself. How could it take him so long to just accept what had happened? “Well…” he mumbled. “Some good peace and quiet would help a ton.”<br/>
“And you’re getting none of it.” John replied, grinning widely. “At least not if I’m around.” He giggled. Brian had already gone back to business with that receptionist and wasn’t paying any attention to the two remaining beatles.</p><p>Paul blushed: “I was just thinking out loud, y’know.”</p><p>“More like over-thinking out loud.” John added. “Come along, we’re rooming.” he said as he showed the bassist the key for room 323 and started to walk towards the lift. Paul complied and followed. He was certain John knew what was running through his head because of the looks he gave him during the lift ride. Had they been alone, surely they would have said something or started a conversation, but the lift attendant wouldn’t have liked taking part in it, certainly.</p><p>As soon as they reached their room, Paul stormed inside and let himself drop on the closest bed. “I’m taking this one.” he mumbled. John approached the bassist and sat by his side. “Me too.” He whispered into Paul’s ear. The latter couldn’t help but feel goosebumps all over his body as the fingers of the rhythm guitarist started to massage his scalp.</p><p>“How are you feeling, Paul? You’ve been very quiet, to which I’m thankful obviously.” He laughed. “No, but really…” he added. “Macca…”</p><p>The bassist lifted himself a bit and turned to lie on his back. The room’s lighting made the exhaustion on Paul’s expression much more evident now and John couldn’t help but notice a small tear running through his lover’s face.</p><p>“Hey now…” The older one whispered as he cupped Paul’s right cheek and gently stroked it, getting rid of the damn tear. The bassist’s lips curved into a bitter-sweet smile and welcomed the other’s touch with his own hand covering John’s. </p><p>“I-” Paul stuttered. “I’m fine, y’know…” He added as he shifted to a sitting position.</p><p>“Yeah, you’re close to fine.” John replied.</p><p>“It’s just… Too-”</p><p>“Much.” </p><p>“Too much, exactly.” Paul sighed. John took the bassist’s hand and started to leave soft kisses all over it. </p><p>“You have no idea, Paul. No idea how much I wanted to help you, hug you… Kiss you.”  </p><p>The bassist lazily chuckled. “Yes, I think I do have an idea… Also, I’m not going to dinner.” He added. John stopped abruptly his loving task.</p><p>“You’re not? But Brigitte Bardot is comiiing!” He mocked. They both had had a big platonic crush over that woman and oftenly reached their peak during their old wanking sessions back in Liverpool when they pictured her in their minds.</p><p>Paul lightly snorted and shook his head as he couldn’t believe John had seriously brought that up. “Yes she might be coming, but I’m not... Anymore.”</p><p>“Tired?” John asked.</p><p>“Too tired. To be fair, I could fall asleep at this very moment. I just need to close my eyes and...” Paul explained as he let himself drop on the mattress.</p><p>“Oh no, sweet Paul. I won’t allow it.” </p><p>The rhythm guitarist fixed himself on top of the bassist and enjoyed the view of a playful, exhausted close-eyed Paul. His attention drifted towards the younger one’s neck, which he gently attacked with his mouth. Doing so, John placed a few wet kisses on Paul’s neck before moving on to the latter’s lips. The younger one welcomed John’s mouth and placed his hand on the back of the auburn’s neck. As soon as they became almost breathless, they both pulled off and remained in the same position, looking at each other. John’s eyes lingered on Paul’s mouth before focusing again on his doe eyes. Many things were running through his mind at that moment.</p><p>“What is it?” Paul asked, sweetly smiling.</p><p>John smirked as he looked down, losing Paul’s eye contact. The bassist let go of the older one’s neck and grabbed the latter’s chin, lifting it and forcing John to face him again.</p><p>“What is it?” He insisted, maintaining his loving grin.</p><p>“Paul. I- I think you made me queer.” John joked.</p><p>The bassist couldn’t help but chuckle. He caressed John’s cheek and pulled him closer until their lips met again, dissolving into a sincere and passionate kiss. They loved it. They loved each other and adored the intimacy that had sprung between them over the years. Who would have thought that the famous Lennon-McCartney songwriting partnership was actually rolling under the sheets as soon as no one was around.</p><p>However, both bodies froze and ceased all movement when they heard the door opening, without any warning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I KNOW! I KNOW! You probably hate me right now for that cliff-hanger. I'M SORRY, but it will prove worth it in the end, TRUST ME. See you in a few days when I publish the next chapter!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Caught</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all: I don't own The Beatles (but I'd like to). All these chapters are a work of fiction.</p><p>Hello again! Thank you all for reading the last chapter, leaving kudos and some comments. They really do make my day. I hope you enjoy this new chapter in which we discover who's the person that suddenly opened the door... ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Both musicians looked completely astonished at the young lady that stood behind the door. Neither the boys nor the girl said a thing and they just stayed there in sheer shock until a blinding light filled the room, leaving John and Paul sightless for a few seconds. Once they recovered, the two faced the door again, only to find that the woman was already gone.</p><p>“Fuck.” John muttered as he stood up. That lady couldn’t run away, it was impossible. She just couldn’t. And taking into account that she most probably took a picture… Crap, she couldn’t get away with it. John offered his hand to Paul and helped him get on his feet before he rushed out of the room in search of that woman. The bassist followed John closely and as soon as they reached the end of the hallway they spotted her, waiting for the lift to come. </p><p>“Hey, you!” John shouted, running fiercely towards her. The girl let go a short cry and raced in search of the emergency exit. Thankfully, both John and Paul were faster and reached the young one before she could find another way out. </p><p>“What have you got there?!” Lennon aggressively demanded, just as he got a strong hold of her wrist.</p><p>“John! Be gentle, for fuck’s sake.” Paul cursed, but John was so absorbed by fear and anger that he didn’t listen. He couldn’t focus on anything else but the camera hanging around her neck.</p><p>“Sweetheart? Do you speak english?” The bassist lowered himself a bit to be at the same height as the young woman. “English? Parler english?” He added.</p><p>“Non, je ne parle pas anglais.” she replied, with a shaky voice.</p><p>“No anglais? Fucking perfect…” Paul sighed.</p><p>“Macca, the camera. She took a picture of us together.” John whispered, making sure nobody but Paul heard… Not that anybody was around at that moment.</p><p>Paul nodded in response and quickly tried to remember some french words that could be of use. “Darling… Nous, eh- S'il-vous-plaît, donner le camera to us- to nous?” </p><p>The lady shook his head in plain frustration. “Je vais pas faire ça, Paul.” </p><p>“Is that a ‘no’?” John threatened her with a sudden pull of her wrist.</p><p>The girl gasped in great horror. “M’aidez! M’aidez!” She started to yell.</p><p>“Hush, little one. It’s alright.” Paul tried to calm her down. However, the young woman just kept screaming.</p><p>Worried that someone may get out of his or her room because of the girl’s cry, John and Paul began to look around in search for a possible witness. The teen took advantage of that distraction and ferociously kicked John’s inner-thigh.</p><p>“Bloody hell!” The rhythm guitarist cried, letting go of her wrist and falling on his knees because of the great pain.</p><p>The girl ran as fast as she could towards the door that led to the stairs, which she opened and disappeared as soon as it closed.</p><p>“Go Paul. Get her!” John hissed.</p><p>And Paul did so, ignoring his tiredness. He followed the girl’s steps and when he got to the stairs he walked down, really hoping that that was what the kid had done. Once he reached the hotel’s hall, he walked into it and searched for the young teen between some journalists, who started to approach him. ‘Not here.’ Paul thought. ‘Not fucking here’. He had lost her. And not only her, but also the bloody picture she had taken. The picture that could end both his and John’s career. He looked outside, through the big windows and saw all the fans screaming and waving their albums and posters. ‘Impossible’ He couldn’t set a foot outside, too bloody dangerous.</p><p>“Paul!” a journalist exclaimed. “Please, Paul could you-” </p><p>“Fuck.” Paul muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” he turned back and walked upstairs, running away from the reporter and thinking how the hell he was going to tell John that he lost the kid. However, his train of thought was suddenly cut when he came across his partner in crime, who was walking funny because of his injury.</p><p>“Where is she?” John asked, almost in a whisper.</p><p>“John, you shouldn’t be walking” The bassist said, taking a hold of his friend’s arm..</p><p>“Where is she?!” John insisted.</p><p>Paul sighed. “She ran away. I couldn’t get her in time.”</p><p>“You couldn’t?”</p><p>“No, John. When I got to the hall she was nowhere to be seen, so she must have walked out.”</p><p>The rhythm guitarist looked down in disbelief, trying to take a hold of himself. Paul caressed  sweetly John’s arm, in order to comfort him. “But let’s get back to the room. I’m afraid some reporters saw me downstairs.”</p><p>John complied and painfully walked back to the room with the bassist. “You didn’t look for her out of the hotel?” </p><p>“Of course not! I couldn’t risk it… It was packed with fans.” Paul replied. John nodded in response, while softly moaning. The pain in his crotch was quite intense and made him feel very nauseous, but that was nothing compared to the anxiety that had adhered to John’s chest. Both men remained quiet for the rest of the walk, quiet on the outside, of course, as  both of their minds were asking themselves again and again the same question: What’s going to happen now? When they reached their room they found the door open, just as they had left it. They entered and as soon as Paul closed the door he said: “My question is…How the hell did she manage to come in, in the first place?”</p><p>“No effin’ idea, Paul.”</p><p>“Yeah but you were the last one to walk into the room… Did you leave the door open?” The bassist snapped.</p><p>“Fuck, Paul. No! Why on Earth would I do something like that?!”</p><p>“But are you sure?”</p><p>“Macca, I’m certain! I closed the fucking door.”</p><p>“Sure…” The younger one mumbled.</p><p>“James Paul McCartney.” John declared, while grabbing Paul by his shoulders and forcing the latter to face him. “I swear it. I swear it on my mother. I closed the door, therefore it isn’t my goddamn fault. Put the blame on someone else.” He then let go of the bassist.</p><p>“Bloody hell, John… Fuck, I believe you, alright? I trust you, you know I do. I mean how could I not...”</p><p>“Yeah, sure, but what the fuck are we going to do now? What’s next? We wait for her to just publish the picture or what?!” The older one exclaimed as he sat down on one of the beds. </p><p>“We have to tell Brian.” Paul said, as he wandered across the room.</p><p>Something clicked on John’s mind as soon as he heard those words. No, Brian couldn’t know. John and Paul’s relationship was absolutely secret and no one could ever hear about it, not George, not Ringo and, certainly, not Brian. “No.” he responded. “That is not happening, Macca”.</p><p>Paul abruptly stopped at the other’s words. “Why not? He can help us, John. He will know what to do… He always does!”</p><p>“We are not going public, Paul.” The rhythm guitarist insisted. “We can’t.” </p><p>“But I’m not telling you to go fucking public, John. I’m telling you to talk to Brian. Our Brian.” Paul said as he sat next to John on the bed. “Listen to me, John. Look at me.” The bassist placed his hand on John’s cheek, which felt really warm, and made the latter face him. “Brian will understand. You know he is queer himself, so the last thing he’ll do is get mad or be disgusted by this, by us. Okay?”. Paul reassured both John and himself as he half-smiled and placed a soft kiss on his partner’s aquiline nose before sitting up and walking to the bathroom. But Lennon wasn’t okay at all. He surely was scared as hell of what was to come, but the thing that annoyed him the most was them breaking the secret. Them, John and Paul, actively revealing their romance to another person, however trustworthy than man or woman could be. Losing the thing he loved the most, the thing he was addicted to the most: The intimacy of only them really knowing about them. Under no circumstances that was happening. “Paul.” John suddenly said, as he looked up at his lover. “No.”</p><p>Paul’s expression abruptly changed. His thin eyebrows aggressively frowned and his glowing cheeks turned red, because of the raw anger that suddenly sprung inside of him. He looked back at John fiercely, slowly shortening the space between them.  “John, do you think this is easy for me?” Paul barked. “I’m as afraid as you are of losing my career, of losing Jane, of losing my family’s respect… Fuck, the entire world’s respect. I’m shitless scared.” As he finished the sentence, Paul’s voice broke and his strong anger turned into an overwhelming anxious sadness. John watched the lad break in front of him, but managed to block every feeling of pity. He had to be strong at the moment in order to convince Paul. “And I really think the only way of fixing this… or of making it less harmful is telling Brian. John, he has proven to be trustworthy.”</p><p>John shook his head in despair. “We are not fucking telling, Paul. And if this goes out, then we will worry, but not now. I can’t-... I won’t-... And stop that bloody moralistic discourse, you’re not the only victim here.” he yelled.</p><p>“John-” Paul was cut off by a knock on the door. Both men were left breathless by the noise and the room’s atmosphere seemed to get thicker and thicker with fear. Suddenly, John’s breathing seemed much noisier and his heartbeats much stronger. He looked at Paul and Paul looked back at him, standing stiff next to the bathroom’s door. A second knock followed, this time with a voice of a man calling them: “John? Paul?”</p><p>It was Mal. “John? Paul? Are you ready for dinner?” he asked. Both musicians left out a big sigh. John sat up and, doing so, was reminded of the young girl’s kick. It still hurt, but the pain became more bearable with time. He approached the door and opened it a bit. </p><p>“Yeah, we’re ready. We’ll be there in five minutes.” The man said with a serious tone.</p><p>“Great! We will wait for you at the hall, then.” Mal happily replied. John nodded and closed the door right on the man’s face. He then proceed to open his suitcase in order to find some formalwear.</p><p>“So you’re going? After all this?” Paul resentfully asked, approaching John.</p><p>“Of course I’m going.” The older one spatted, while angrily unbuttoning his shirt. “Brigitte Bardot is there.” He paused as he switched shirts. “Chance of a fucking lifetime, don’t you think? Maybe I’ll have to use another room tonight.” John added, perfectly knowing how hurt Paul would be because of those words. He put on a black jacket, closed the suitcase and walked to the door.</p><p>“And you’re staying?” He asked.</p><p>Paul looked down, knowing that if he was to look at John’s eyes he wouldn’t be able to control the pain. “Yes.” He answered sharply. “I’m too tired.”</p><p>“Then sleep tight, sweety.” John said, opening the door. “I wouldn’t want her moans to wake you up.” He dryly added, closing the door behind him and leaving a tearful Paul alone with his anxious thoughts.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you have enjoyed reading this little chapter! I love an angst ending every once in a while, don't you? Leave a comment if you have any suggestions or opinions! I'll be more than glad to read them. Lots of love, take care and I'll see you when I publish the next one!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Love Me Tender</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Primarily: I don't own The Beatles (But I wouldn't mind if I did) All these chapters are a work of fiction.</p>
<p>Hello, once again! Thank you deeply for reading my fanfic, leaving kudos and comments. I love to read your opinions. This chapter explains much and, personally, I think you are going to love it. Let me know if I'm right! Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John’s head was a mess. He stormed out of the room and walked fastly to the lift, fixing his hair as he didn’t have the time to stop by a mirror. ‘What a nightmare.’ He thought to himself. He hated to see Paul cry, but when he was the cause of those tears… That was just the worst feeling. However, Paul was being so pigheaded with all the “telling Brian” fuss... They were not going to tell Brian because if they did then they were admitting it, it was out. However, if the press published the picture they could always justify it as a funny game or even a quarrel. Why was it so hard for Paul to understand something as simple as that? John knew that he needed to show himself much stronger than Paul, so that the bassist finally would understand and agree with him. As soon as the lift arrived he was greeted by the lift attendant and some hotel’s guests.</p>
<p>“Evenin’” John greeted back, as he squished himself between the people. He stood still and remained silent, until he noticed everyone inside the lift taking quick glances at him and smiling afterwards. It was not a pure, well-intended smile, but more of a mocking grin... Could it be possible that they already knew about the picture? ‘No, it couldn’t.’ John reminded himself. It couldn’t, because it had happened half an hour ago and no reporter could have been able to reach it in that short amount of time. A giggle came out of one of the women aboard. </p>
<p>“What’s so funny, ey?” He snapped, annoyed.</p>
<p>The woman kept giggling and, as soon as they reached the hall, left quickly laughing even harder. This worried John, but he really tried to remind himself that in 30 minutes it was IMPOSSIBLE for anyone to know… Or, at least, that’s what he hoped. </p>
<p>“John! Finally you’re here. The guests are waiting for the four of you to- But, where is Paul?” Brian asked. “Mal! I told you to make sure all of them knew they had to come down.” The manager insisted.</p>
<p>“I did. Dunno why he isn’t here.” Mal replied.</p>
<p>“He’s sick.” John declared.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong with him? Is he alright?” Ringo asked, ever so worried.</p>
<p>“Yeah, he’ll pull through, son. He’s tired and needs some good ol’ rest, so let the lad be.” The rhythm guitarist added with a short grin.</p>
<p>“Alright then, but the rest of you still have to attend. No one sneaks out this time, understood?” Brian warned the lads, which didn’t seem to be bothered at all by the message of their manager. “Come on, let’s go now. We are getting late.”</p>
<p>“And getting laid…” George murmured to John, as he nudged his friend’s ribcage. On other circumstances, surely that joke would have made John let out a laugh or two, but at that time it just felt wrong… Out of place... Like cold icy water going down his spine. </p>
<p>“You alright, mate?” George asked.</p>
<p>John remained quiet for a second, with an unreadable expression for George. “Yeah” he muttered, as he faced his friend. “Let’s get you bloody laid then.” He added, forcing a smirk on his face and eagerly walking towards the dining room, which was packed with both french celebrities and reporters. As the three walked in, the whole mass started to clap and cheer, and flashes filled the room. Flashes that reminded John of the thing he wanted to forget the most, at least for an hour or two. The three beatles sat and started to eat some of the snacks displayed at the high table.</p>
<p>“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?” A man said with a thick french accent, while tapping a mic. “Before the dinner starts, we would like to hold a brief press conference, if it’s alright with all of you. Umm. The lady on the back.”</p>
<p>“Where is the other one?” A woman demandingly asked.</p>
<p>“Sick.” John replied. </p>
<p>“Yeah, he’s had a rough couple of days.” George added.</p>
<p>The moderator squinted his eyes and pointed at one of the journalists. “Now, vous! Oui, vous. Ask the question.” </p>
<p>“Ringo, how is it like to be you?” A reporter exclaimed.</p>
<p>“Exhausting.” The drummer joked, enlightening the atmosphere, as he usually did. “Gotta be always on the beat.” He added, while dancing sillily. </p>
<p>“George! Are you wearing a wig?” Another one asked.</p>
<p>“I’m not. But, are you?” More laughs filled the room.</p>
<p>“Hello, boys. Welcome to Nice. May I ask you… How is France treating you?”</p>
<p>George answered the question with wit, as he always did and, really,  not taking the journalist very seriously. But John wasn’t paying much attention to the press conference. He found them utterly silly and the reporters were quite dull and, frankly, just dumb most of the times. All the questions were the same and were repeated over and over, restlessly, as if they didn’t want to settle with the answers the four gave. Bored and uninterested, he focused on the crowd, trying to guess their names or just judging them by their looks. Most of the celebrities appeared presumptuous, fake. There were lot’s of nice women, yes: ‘Good.’ He thought. And also lot of reporters, cameramen and, of course, cameras. Those damn cameras that started to repulse him. As he focused on every men and women he distinguished a face between them all: Brigitte Bardot. The one and only Bardot, wearing a tight dark dress with an open cleavage… That woman surely wouldn’t go unnoticed by George. John’s attention kept drifting from face to face, ever so often reconnecting with the topic of the press conference. A back door opened and, once again, John disconnected from the gathering and focused on the person walking in. </p>
<p>“Christ Almighty.” He whispered, as he recognized the face of the woman that just entered. It was her, the young lady who had taken the picture of Paul and him. In a sudden, everything around John seemed to drift and echo, the voices of the crowd quieted down and his surroundings darkened. He started sweating and noticed his heartbeats going wild. He watched the young woman hand the camera that hung around her neck to a colleague and settle a ‘press’ pin on her jacket. He soon realised that that woman wasn’t a fan or a teenager. She was a reporter undercover and, most importantly, she had the picture that would end his and his lover’s career. He had to do something, he had to stand up, shout or-. </p>
<p>“John!” A loud voice exclaimed. John’s train of thought was cut and was brought back to reality by the man’s voice. “John, how would you describe your relationship with Paul McCartney?”</p>
<p>“Extraordinary.” He answered quickly with wit, but his voice shook ever so slightly. Sweat ran down his neck and his heart paced at an abnormal speed maybe because of his insecurity, his nerves, his anger. Fucking hell! He couldn’t even think straight.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but… Don’t you get on each other’s nerves every once in a while, being so close everyday?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me as you seem to already know the answer?” John replied sharply, without giving it any thought. The room quieted down at his comment, only Brian’s worried whispers being heard.</p>
<p>“Well, Mr. Lennon it’s a fact that you two spend a lot of time together and-” </p>
<p>“And what?” John defyintly asked.</p>
<p>“There are some rumours about you and Mr. McCartney as many say that you two may not be how you seem to be on the outside, to the public.”</p>
<p>‘This has to be a joke’ John thought. He swallowed some saliva and declared the following: “If there’s one thing Paul and I are is natural in everything we do. We are not faking. So go find a cheap story somewhere else.” The silence was replaced by murmurs from the celebrities and, of course, from the press. </p>
<p>“Uhm…” The moderator tried to fix the situation. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think we can conclude the press conference right here. Ehmm… Enjoy the food. Merci beaucoup.” He added with a shaky voice. Seemed like John wasn’t the only person on edge there.<br/>
The three beatles sat up and walked towards the buffet, but John’s attention wasn’t on the food. His eyes were looking for the lady and, as soon as they found her, he focused on how she was speaking to some other reportes. He seriously wondered what she was telling the men around her.</p>
<p>“John, you surely know how to put on a scene.” George joked. “Now, hand me the bread, John. But don’t fake it.” The younger one added.</p>
<p>“Oh, come on George… Knock it off.” Lennon replied as he handed the man a piece of bread. He then gave a quick glance at the food on display and noticed they were serving roast beef. ‘Paul’ He thought. It was one of Paul’s favourite foods, he could dine with him. However, he had a much more important task that night: Finding the camera. He walked between the men and women, which drank and ate as if they had never eaten before in a buffet. ‘Quite vulgar.’ God, John was starting to think like his aunt Mimi. </p>
<p>“John Lennon!” A french man exclaimed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Jacques.” He added as he shook the musicians hand. </p>
<p>“Yeah, gear.” John replied, looking over the man’s head still focused on the young lady. </p>
<p>“I’m a great fan of your work, c’est magnifique! Right, Marie?” </p>
<p>The woman nodded in response. </p>
<p>“She’s Marie, my soon to be wife.” Jacques smiled, but John wasn’t listening. He just nodded with half a smile, trying to be as polite as possible with that french fecker. The young lady, the reporter, moved and John startled.</p>
<p>“Excuse me.” John murmured, and continued to follow the young woman, as she could lead him to the bloody camera. John felt more and more pressure on his chest as he started to lose trace of the lady, inevitably losing her completely to the crowd that filled the dining room. He looked around in despair, fear and anxiety adhering to his soul.  John glanced at every person and every person’s face around him but he couldn’t find her. It was a mess, a fucking utter wrong mess. Yes, he had his contacts on, but he didn’t seem to see anything clearer because of them. More and more sweat wetted John’s skin as his heartbeats raced at a high speed. His surroundings were unclear to him, his head felt both foggy and heavy and the voices around him echoed and united as one overwhelming annoying noise. His chest painfully hurt and John’s breaths became shorter and shorter. He had never had a panic attack before, but surely that felt like one and, worst of all, he was losing his bloody mind without Paul being there to sooth him. Suddenly, the same door as before opened and, again, the lady was there, but now with intentions to leave the room and, maybe, even the hotel. ‘Oh no… No, no, no.’ He panicked even more and fastly walked towards her, pushing away the people on his way as softly and politely as possible.</p>
<p>“John! Come here! I have to introduce you to someone you’re going to love.” Ringo urged him. But John ignored his bandmate, who was eager on catching his attention. The drummer stopped John, grabbing him by his arm.</p>
<p>“Bloody ‘ell, Ringo. What the fuck is it?!” He asked angrily. The drummer was shocked by John’s unexpected reaction and was left speechless for a few seconds. John then realised that Ringo wasn’t alone and stared very much surprised at the impressive woman standing beside the drummer.</p>
<p>“Bonsoir, John.” Brigitte Bardot greeted him. “Je suis très, pardon, very happy to know you after all this time.” She then added. The blonde woman was quite tall and, wearing those high heels left Ringo’s face at the same height as the actress’ very much open cleavage. What a sight, of course.</p>
<p>John blinked quite a few times before looking back at the big door, which was already closed. </p>
<p>“Sure… Uhm... A pleasure.” He said, while quickly and not very delicately shaking the woman’s hand. “You’ll have to excuse me ‘cause I’m in a hurry.” John started to walk away. “See you later, though.” He added, while making a short silly dance and waving goodbye. Once he was out of their sight he raced towards the door and walked through it only to find it led to a hallway. There, he heard the voice of a young lady and followed it, hoping… Praying it was her. Doing so, he reached the hotel’s hall and found the lady with some reporters walking out of the hotel with their cameras.</p>
<p>“Hey!” He shouted. The reporters turned around, but when they noticed that John was the one calling them they rushed and hopped on a taxi that waited in front of the hotel’s entrance. The street was surrounded by fans, who screamt fiercely as they saw their beloved beatle. John stared at the reporters as they got in the car and left the building. That was it, it was over. His breathing became erratic as he began to think that the photo was now out of his control and in the hands of the press. And what would the press do with it? “Anything.” John answered himself. The fans kept screaming and yelling, some of them desperately trying to get inside of the hotel, which made John feel a sudden urge of leaving that place. Doing so, he stormed upstairs, not minding the lift. He ran through the hallways as fast as he could, knowing that if he was to stop he wouldn’t be able to hold his anxious tears and, if there was one thing he hated most, was crying in public. </p>
<p>Once he found himself in front of his room’s door, he took out the key and carefully opened it, as he didn’t want to startle Paul with loud noises or sudden movements. The room was dark, the only light source being the moon itself (and maybe some streetlights). Paul was already in bed, probably sleeping. John entered the room and quietly closed the door behind him, but, before nearing Paul, he took a second to breathe as he realised he hadn’t been breathing since he stood in front of the door itself. Then, he approached the occupied bed and whispered his lover’s name.</p>
<p>“Paul... Hey, Paul.” He tried to be as sweet as possible, but, frankly, he wasn’t succesiding at it… He was just too fucking nervous. Paul slept with a well known angelical expression to John. However, his eyes were a bit swollen and the pillow under him was sublty wet around his eye area. John jumped to the conclusion that Paul had cried himself to sleep, a realisation that tore the rhythm guitarist’s heart apart. He was just then, after all what he’d been through, figuring out that he had been very much unfair to the person he loved most.</p>
<p>“Paul… Paul!” He urged, with a trembling voice, while gently squeezing the bassist’s shoulder. </p>
<p>“Hmm- What is it John?” Paul murmured, drowsily.</p>
<p>“Paul…” He breathed. “Paul, I-” John stopped, trying to hold a sob. Paul’s eyes abruptly opened as he knew that sound was the most uncommon one to hear from John.</p>
<p>“John?” He said, incorporating himself. The bassist looked at the older man, whose eyes were glassy and whose nose was a bit watery. John stood beside Paul’s bed, looking down and slightly shaking, as he tried not to break apart. Paul stared worryingly at his lover for a second and, then, took John’s hand to guide him to sit by his side. Paul’s grip on John was strong and, because of it, he was able to notice the abnormal speed of John’s heartbeats. Paul let go of his lover’s hand, in order to place his right hand on the older one’s chest. He couldn’t believe how fast John’s heart was beating.</p>
<p>“John, tell me.”</p>
<p>But John couldn’t utter a single word without losing it. He couldn’t even stare at the bassist. Paul wrapped his other arm around John and brought them closer to one another. He, then, left a pair of soft kisses on John’s temple, trying to sooth him.</p>
<p>“Please.” Paul whispered.</p>
<p>“I-” John stuttered. “I-... Something happened, Paul.” He managed to say.</p>
<p>“What happened, love?” Paul replied, starting to rock his lover sweetly.</p>
<p>John let out a sigh. “Remember the lady?”</p>
<p>“Which one?”</p>
<p>“The one of the picture.”</p>
<p>Paul stopped any movement and silently looked dumbfounded at John.</p>
<p>“She’s from the press, Paul. She’s a bloody reporter.” He added and, while saying so, started to shake once again.</p>
<p>In response of John’s nervousness, Paul resumed the rocking.</p>
<p>“And she’s gone, Paul. I saw her leave with the camera.” John added. </p>
<p>Thousands of thoughts abruptly roamed around Paul’s head, all at the same time. Now they both were certain that the picture was in the hands of the press and, therefore, anything could be done with it. Anything could be done to them and to the group. Paul’s breathing fastened and his heartbeats also raised as he realised there really was only one way out. Telling Brian… No matter what.</p>
<p>“You know we have to…” Paul muttered.</p>
<p>John faced the bassist in response and, doing so, Paul was able to see the hurt, pain and fear in his lover’s eyes. He wiped a shy tear from John’s cheek and cupped it as the latter nodded.</p>
<p>“We will be alright, John…” Paul whispered, staring into John’s eyes. Reassuring him, comforting him. “It’s alright.” He added. John needed to hear those words from that precise person as if his life depended on it. And, once he did, he broke into a mess of sobs, weeps and irregular breathing. As John cried his heart out, Paul hugged him and lovingly rubbed his back, also letting out a bunch of confused and frightful tears.</p>
<p>Both men remained as so for a while… First, forcefully crying into each others’ necks, leaving a watery path of tears run down them. Then, when they managed to calm themselves down, they just remained there, hugging it out, feeling each other, loving each other… Supporting each other, knowing that, if one was to let go, both of them would inevitably fall… Just like in real life. There wasn’t a John without Paul and there wasn’t a Paul without John. They completed each other, no matter what those would say about only a man and a woman being able to form a unity. Surely those bloody fuckers hadn’t met them because, if only they had, they’d ultimately figure out that their way of thinking was damned. John needed Paul in a way he would never admit… And Paul depended on John greatly… Too much, others would say, but sometimes too much was just merely perfect.</p>
<p>Once they were too tired to remain seated, they lay down on the bed. John’s head placed on Paul’s chest and Paul’s hand caressing his lover’s auburn hair. As so, they remained in silence for some time, staring at the shadows of the room and trying to come to terms with the new situation they had to face together. Paul knew John wasn't asleep just yet and started to softly sing a song both of them knew very well.</p>
<p>“Love me tender, love me sweet… Never let me go.”</p>
<p>John felt the vibration on Paul’s chest and slightly moved his head up to look at the bassist as he sang.</p>
<p>“You have made my life complete, and I love you so.” Paul added, now locking eyes with the older one and smiling.</p>
<p>“Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfilled…” Paul continued singing, lightly chucking while doing so. “For my darling, I love you and I always will…” </p>
<p>John lifted himself a bit, in order to be face to face with his lover. He neared Paul’s lips, but stopped just when he was about to brush them with his. John stared into Paul’s hypnotizing hazel eyes, which still were a bit glassy.</p>
<p>“Love me tender, love me dear… Tell me you’re mine.” John sang and placed a peck on Paul’s lips. “I’ll be yours through all the years, ‘till the end of time.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This has to be one of my favourite endings of all the chapters that I've written so far, they are so CUTE together AGH!! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! See you in a few days when I publish the next one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Brian</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: I don't own The Beatles (but their Social Media would be much more interesting if I did) All these chapters are a work of fiction.</p><p>Hello! Again, I have no words to describe how thankful I am for your comments, kudos and, overall, you reading my fanfic :') Thank you deeply or, as we say in Spain, mazo gracias. Os adoro bbs.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John was awoken by his roaring belly begging for food. After all, he hadn’t had a bite since… Lunch? He couldn’t remember… Yesterday had been one of the most bizarre days of his life, close to the worst to be fair. Not comparable with they day his mum died, surely, but, in a way, it resembled it. He didn't need to open his eyes to notice the absence of Paul by his side. The bassist always used to wake up before John and that morning, in spite of everything, wouldn’t be different. Paul stood in front of the washing basin and stared at himself on the mirror trying to fix his hair. He had already showered and dressed up in one of their classic tailored suits. ‘Always gotta be perfect, my Macca.’ John thought to himself and, as if that thought had summoned his lover, Paul left the bathroom and walked up to him.</p><p>“Can’t believe you slept in those clothes.” Paul said, smiling and sitting by his side. A bittersweet smile, of course, as neither of them had forgotten the task they were supposed to do that morning. John answered with a soft chuckle and lightly shook his head, as he couldn’t believe it either.</p><p>“Good thing is that, for the first time ever, I’m ready before you.” John joked and poked repeatedly Paul’s shoulder, making the latter let out a few laughs.</p><p>“Oh!” Paul exclaimed. “Almost forgot.” He added, while sitting up and walking towards his suitcase. John observed the younger one as he rapidly searched through his clothes, until he found what he desperately was looking for. Paul turned around and walked back to John with a packet of cigarettes and a chocolate bar, to which John’s belly rumbled in response.</p><p>“Figured you were hungry.” Paul declared, handing the chocolate bar to John and picking out a ciggie before placing it between his lips.</p><p>“You know me too well, Macca.” John answered, opening the plastic wrap and eagerly bitting the sweet.</p><p>Paul giggled as he lit the fag and then inhaled the much needed smoke. John took a quick glance at his handwatch while he ate. It was 7:20 in the morning and, therefore, he had slept an incredible amount of hours. It had been too long for him to remember the last time something like that happened. With the tight schedule Brian had imposed on them, sleeping had become more and more rare and, consequently, more valued.</p><p>“John.” Paul muttered with a tone that could only mean one thing: It was time. John nodded in response and got up from the bed. Once he was on his feet, he stretched and yawned as, no matter how many times one could do it, he had never gotten used to sleeping in a twin sized bed with a grown-up man. An incredible handsome man, sure, but a man who definitely took lots of space anyway. John walked to the bathroom and, before closing the door, he turned to Paul and said: “Pick out my clothes, Macca, will you?”</p><p>~*~</p><p>Paul stood in front of their room door, waiting for John to put on his boots. Once the latter had finished, he joined his lover and stood beside him. They looked into each other's eyes and John inhaled deeply, before putting his hand on the knob. </p><p>“Wait!” Paul hissed, startling John, who stared at him confused. “Your tie is not straight.” Paul added, placing his hands on the aforementioned tie and fixing it. </p><p>“I guess the straighter I look right now, the better.” John joked, to which Paul laughed bitter-sweetly and, with his hands still on John’s tie, brought the older one closer and kissed John’s lips passionately. The kiss didn’t last long though, as John quickly broke it, backing off.</p><p>“What?” Paul mumbled.</p><p>“Paul… I see what you’re doing. You want me to confess our love to Brian with a stiffy.”</p><p>Paul chuckled at John’s witty remark. “You’re right, John.” He responded. “I just think it would reinforce our statement, y’know. Make a point.” Paul added, sweetly smirking at John’s dumbfounded expression.</p><p>“Alright.” John spat. “Then you will be the one with a hard cock.” He added as his hand left the door knob in search for Paul’s crotch.</p><p>“Hey! John!” Paul exclaimed, backing fastly from his lover’s hand. “Come on!” He added, but John didn’t seem  to pay any attention to his pleas. “Okay! Okay, no hard-ons.” Paul promised, to which John stopped his attempts to reach Paul’s shaft. They both chuckled and walked up to the door but, when they were once again facing it, both men felt as if a bucket full of reality had been poured on them. Their laughs quieted and their smirks disappeared at the realisation those were the last minutes, or even seconds, of their love being a secret between the two men. Uncertainty filled John’s mind, paralyzing him and preventing him of any movement. Of course, that didn’t go unnoticed by Paul’s perception and, instead of bluntly opening the door at that instant, he took a hold of John’s hand before placing his free hand on the door knob and turning it.</p><p>They stepped out of their room and closed the door behind them only to find that there was no living soul in the hallway, something quite strange for the both of them. However, they didn’t give it any more thought than the strictly necessary and walked up to Brian’s room, still firmly holding hands. Both men were extremely careful and their whole senses were focused on any sudden movement, a sound, a shadow… Whatever sign that could imply a human presence beside them both.</p><p>The noise of an opening door made the musicians jump and quickly let go of the other’s hand. John and Paul looked back at the door that had emitted that noise and saw a tall blond man step out of his room. They had never seen him in his life, but expected the man to approach or, at least, say something about them being two beatles. To their surprise, the man just stared at them with a slight expression of amusement to which followed a loud laugh. John and Paul didn’t understand at all the reaction of that stranger, who had already parted towards the lift, still giggling. Paul licked his lips nervously and glanced at John, who was staring at the floor. His stare seemed empty of any feeling, but, in reality, it was a stare that hid fear and, somewhat, shame. John had a feeling, a bad feeling about what had happened and, he couldn’t figure why, but he just knew that nothing good was about to occur to both of them. Paul squeezed John’s forearm, reassuringly and invited the older one to resume their walking towards Brian’s room. A walk that, under other circumstances, would appear much quicker but, to them, every step was an indescribable effort.</p><p>Once they reached the room, Paul knocked the door and received in response a desperate sigh from Brian. </p><p>“What on bloody Earth is it now?!” The manager exclaimed, as he approached the door forcefully creating strong thuds every time he stepped on the carpet of his room. That was most unusual of Brian. The manager half-opened the door and, doing so, John and Paul were able to see the rage on the other man’s face. </p><p>“Wonderful.” He barked. “They are here.” He informed Freda, his secretary. “Come in, please. I am dying to show you something.” He fully opened the door now and let both musicians enter the room. “Sit.” The manager added.</p><p>“Brian…” Paul tried to say, but Brian cut him.</p><p>“Sit.” He aggressively insisted, pointing at a couch. </p><p>The musicians obeyed and, to be fair, both of them were scared to hell by Brian’s attitude so they wouldn’t even dare to disobey him at that precise moment. They had never seen him act like that, not even close. To their eyes, Brian was a strong, firm and resisting pilar that never broke, never shattered and never trembled. But, Brian seemed like a completely different person at the moment. The manager had left the room and entered another in which Freda seemed to be. </p><p>“Hand me those.” Brian dryly demanded, and Freda seemed to comply, judging by the sound of crumpling paper. “And that. That too.” Brian added.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Freda replied, so softly Paul and John hardly could hear her. </p><p>Silence followed Freda’s question. The calm before the storm, as many would say. “THE FUCKING BOTTLE, FREDA! THE GODDAMN BLOODY SCOTCH!” Brian derangedly yelled as he strongly hit his fists on the table. Freda loudly gasped at Brian’s actions and John and Paul sat up as soon as they heard those unnerving sounds. Brian walked out of the room with the bottle and some newspapers under his armpit. </p><p>“I made it clear I wanted both of you to sit.” Brian remarked, as he put down the bottle of scotch next to a glass and poured some of the liquid inside of it. He took a long sip and breathed the smell of the alcohol before speaking once again.</p><p>“Read this.” He spatted, throwing at the pair two french newspapers.</p><p>John had received both and handed one of the newspapers to Paul. He took little time to notice the enormous picture that filled the front page. It was them laying on one of their room’s bed. John on top of Paul and the latter with his hand on the older one’s cheek, both of them staring in sheer shock at the camera lens. The newspaper that John had handed to Paul had the exact same picture on it. Paul couldn’t believe it. Well, he could because he was seeing it but he just… He just had no idea what to do so he looked at John, trying to find an answer. John stared at the picture, shocked, seeing not only what it obviously showed, but what it meant. Because that picture on that newspaper meant that hundreds, thousands and, who knows?!, even millions of people already knew about them and it was real. It had happened. </p><p>“Read the headlines.” Brian demanded, and the two beatles complied.</p><p>‘John et Paul, une affaire homosexuelle’ John’s newspaper said. He read the phrase, read it and reread it many times perfectly knowing what it meant. His stomach dropped and Paul’s did the same as he read the headline of the newspaper he held: ‘La passion de Lennon-McCartney’.</p><p>“If you think those are the only newspapers with that picture on the cover, you will prove to be  utterly silly.” Brian declared. “In the last hour I have received tons of phone calls… Never in my entire life have I ever had to answer the phone so many times in just 60 minutes.” He added. “Wonder why it doesn’t ring anymore?” The manager rhetorically asked the musicians, who still stared at the wicked picture. “Because I threw it out of the fucking window.”</p><p>The tone of Brian’s words made Paul face him and, when their glances collided, shivers went down Paul’s spine. Brian truly seemed to be out of his mind, absolutely crazy. </p><p>“Brian…” Paul said, softly, trying not to startle the manager’s nerves.</p><p>“What.” Brian replied.</p><p>“Brian, I thought you would be the one to understand us most… After all, we’re on the same boat here, y’know.” The bassist explained calmly, with long pauses in order to calm his anxious thoughts down.</p><p>“Oh no, sweet Paul…” The manager whispered. “We are not on the same boat.” He added, rising his voice. “You two are out now. You are public. Everyone knows about you two meaningfully looking into each other’s eyes, kissing in every corner, fucking whenever you get the chance…”</p><p>Brian’s words felt like thin daggers being stabbed into John’s chest one by one. He surely was overwhelmed with the entire situation but, after all, last night with Paul had helped him to get his shit together. That’s why he didn’t stand Brian’s remarks about his relationship with Paul.</p><p>“Brian.” John growled, angered. “You are on thin fucking ice.”</p><p>“I think the one on thin ice is you, John. Actually, not only you but your doe-eyed princess as well.” Brian dryly advised the rhythm guitarist as he faced Paul with a wicked smirk.</p><p>His comments really upset Paul and sheer anger was growing quickly inside of him. It could take one more single remark about his appearance or his relationship to punch the poofter until he begged for his life. John felt Paul’s rage become more and more intense and, to prevent any incident, he placed his hand on the bassist knee and gently stroke it.</p><p>“I think you’re terribly mistaken, Brian.” John replied. “Awfully, indeed. Because, in case you forgot, you, my friend, are the manager of The Beatles so if The Beatles go down you sink with us.” John’s words penetrated Brian’s intoxicated mind and grew some nervousness inside of the manager, ever so slightly. “And if anything happens to Paul and me there’s no more Beatles.” The auburn haired added. “So, your choice. Help us or sink with us.”</p><p>Paul’s anger faded as that strong feeling was replaced by pride. Furthermore, he had never been prouder of John in his entire life. For the first time ever, he heard the older one defend their relationship, their love, against some other belief… And that sprung warmth inside Paul’s heart, a warmth that was made evident in his expression, calmer and calmer as John spoke and stroked his knee. Brian sighed and looked around desperately, trying to find something, anything… Just a way to reply to John. But he couldn’t. He knew that, in the end, John was right. The manager reached for the glass of scotch and filled it once again.</p><p>“For how long have you been together?” Brian asked.</p><p>Paul glanced at John and placed his hand on top of his lover’s, which still stayed on the bassist’s knee. </p><p>“Well… Since we met we knew there was something special, right?” He looked for John’s reassurance, to which the older one nodded staring at Brian. “But, officially to us, since Paris.”</p><p>‘Paris.’ Brian thought. ‘Since Paris.’ Paul’s words resonated inside of Brian’s drunk mind, fueling his own naughty imagination. Flashes of made-up sexual encounters between the musicians that sat facing him sprung inside the manager’s head. A young, sweaty and naked McCartney moaning under John’s unclothed body, whose hips thrusted forcefully against the bassist skin bearing deeper his cock inside the younger one. Another mental image took Brian’s entire attention: John kneeled in front of the bassist, holding the latter’s erection and playfully stroking it. Paul welcomed the older one’s touch and moaned in response, placing his left hand on the auburn’s head and guiding it towards his shaft. John complied to what Paul non verbally asked and wrapped his lips around the bassist’s throbbing prick. Those images grew jealousness inside the manager’s soul. Knowing that he hadn’t been the only man in John’s life had been and still was a difficult thing for Brian to take but, worst of all, he hadn’t even been the first… </p><p>“Can’t believe it.” Brian muttered. “I can’t believe it…” He added hiding his face between his hands and sighing deeply. </p><p>“Look, Brian, if this little attitude of yours is because you’re jealous or something I deeply recommend you to consider quitting it right now.” John defied the manager.</p><p>“Well John, I presume Paul would like to know he hasn’t been the only queer man in your life… Or in...side you, for a chance.” Brian’s comments were painful to the bassist, but he managed to hide their true effect the best he could. He had found it difficult enough to forgive John two years ago because of his little trip to Spain with Brian, but, for both of them, it was a thing of the past… A forgotten event that didn’t bother their love anymore.</p><p>“I know John well enough to not bothered by those insignificant nuisances, Brian.” Paul snapped.</p><p>That was it for Brian. He couldn’t take it any longer as he found it too painful to drown in the realisation that he had never mattered to John just as much as John had mattered and mattered to him, nowadays. The manager drank his whole glass of scotch in one go and sat up. “Freda, put me through to London!” He yelled as he walked up to the room in which the secretary was.</p><p>“But Brian, you threw away the phone!” She complained. </p><p>“Then find another one, sweety.” The manager sarcastically replied.</p><p>Freda fastly walked out of the room in which she stayed, and passed in front of John and Paul, who still had his hands together. </p><p>“I’m so sorry, boys. When Brian overdrinks he’s just impossible… Changes completely.” Freda said, leaving the room in search of a spare phone. </p><p>It struck both musicians that her attitude hadn’t changed towards them in spite of everything. Maybe there was still a chance that people would understand, they hopefully thought. John and Paul couldn’t help but hear some spare sobs coming out of the other room in which Brian remained. They stood up and neared the noises. Brian was sitting on a chair and lay his head on the table filled with newspapers and magazine, which front page’s had the same picture on them. The sight of the manager was plainly sad. A broken man cried his nursing heart out alone surrounded by the evidence of an uncertain future for him and for them.</p><p>Pity took a hold of John’s actions and approached the manager. He placed a hand on Brian’s back. “Let it all out, son.” He consoled the manager, rubbing gently the back of the older man. The touch, instead of quieting and comforting Brian, made his cries even louder. John looked at Paul with worried eyes, they would have never expected this from Brian but, of course, that man wasn’t the Brian they knew so well. He was drunk, highly intoxicated and he couldn’t think straight… He couldn’t even act properly or regulate his emotions or his thoughts… Much less his words.</p><p>Paul also neared the manager and squatted next to him. “We are sorry, Brian.” He said, gently, trying to sooth his profound sadness. “We should have told you before.” He added. </p><p>Brian nodded in response and started to quiet down. His sobs became softer and softer and his breathing normalized. As so, he managed to calm down and quickly cleaned his tears with the tip of his fingers.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, boys. I’m utterly ashamed. It’s just that… I can’t…” Brian tried to explain himself, but was cut by his own sobs once again. He was truly ashamed of his behaviour, but alcohol made him so unstable, unbalanced… Uncontrollable.</p><p>John and Paul stood there, beside their manager until he was able to speak once again. “What’s the plan, Brian?” John asked. “You’ve always got a plan, mate.”</p><p>Brian bitterly chuckled at John’s comment. He knew it was untrue, but enjoyed people thinking of him in that way.</p><p>“We are not going to Spain, for obvious reasons.” The manager revealed. </p><p>“Which obvious reasons?” Paul asked.</p><p>“Well, I rest my case on the fact that if you were ever to set a foot on Spain being openly queer you might as well not get out of the country ever again.” Brian answered.</p><p>“Jesus…” John sighed, worryingly locking eyes with the bassist. They hadn’t even thought about the legal consequences of their relationship going public</p><p>“Dictatorships…” Brian explained, massaging his temples with closed eyes. “I will cancel tonight’s concert and we will be on a plane home as soon as possible.”</p><p>Paul rose to his feet and stood beside John. The latter still had his hand placed on Brian’s back, but had ceased it’s movement. </p><p>“Will anything happen to us, Brian?” Paul wondered, hoping the manager’s response would be reassuring. </p><p>“Frankly, Paul, I don’t know.” Brian confessed. “Homosexuality is legal in France so here you shouldn’t encounter any more problems or restrictions than the ones we already have…” He added, opening a packet of cigarettes. “Fancy some?” He asked the boys.</p><p>John and Paul nodded and took one ciggie each. </p><p>“However.” Brian continued to say, as he lit the cigar on his lips. “In the United Kingdom the situation is absolutely different, as you already know.”</p><p>John slowly breathed the smoke, as he closed his eyes and lifted his hand from Brian. Yes, he knew. Both Paul and him knew, but had been so stupid not to realise until that precise moment. He faced his lover, who smoked staring at the void as he listened to Brian’s reminding, shaking his head in despair.</p><p>“Will we be jailed or what?” John demanded, maybe too harshly.</p><p>Brian faced the rhythm guitarist. “No, I don’t think there’s enough proof for you two to be thrown into jail. I don’t dare to give into that thought. But bear in mind that it is highly probable that an investigation will be opened” The manager confessed. “However, I know a man who might be able to help… He is an old friend of mine who has quite a lot of experiences with cases like this one, though he has never defended anyone as famous as you, surely.”</p><p>“He’s a lawyer?” Paul asked.</p><p>“Yes. A very good one and… A lawyer who will clearly understand what you are going through...  He will find it easy to put himself in your shoes… I hope I’m making myself clear enough.” Brian replied.</p><p>Paul nodded. Yes, he got it. The lawyer was a queer friend of Brian. ‘Appropriate.’ He thought to himself. The sound of an opening door startled both musicians and, subconsciously, made them stand further from each other.</p><p>“Brian? I have the phone you needed.” Freda said, walking into the room with the device between her hands.</p><p>“Fantastic, thank you.” Brian replied, much calmer now than when the lady had left. “Then I will make the necessary arrangements. I recommend you to stay in your dormitory until further notice, alright? And speak to no one.” </p><p>“Yes, Brian.” John answered.</p><p>“Thank you.” Paul said, as he left the room with John following behind. </p><p>Both of them felt and actually were lost. That was the perfect word to describe them: Simply and plainly lost. They didn’t know what to do, they didn’t know what was to come next. They didn’t know who knew or who had heard. Their families? Their friends? George and Ringo? They had quite a lot of explaining to do in front of them. John didn’t know if Cynthia would leave him. Not that he cared if she did, but losing Julian would be a terrible thing to cope with. Paul wondered if Jane had heard about this “incident”. He knew she wouldn’t like it a bit and, of course, she would believe it straightaway. For the last year she had been complaining about Paul spending “too much time” at John’s home or at the studio for a change, but always with John… Maybe she was jealous of the rhythm guitarist without really knowing why. Well, now she knew why. Poor lady…  Paul wondered if she was already packing and leaving Cavendish… She had always been a bit hysterical to his eyes, but it was one of the things he had to cope with in order to maintain the “successful straight musician” façade he needed. However, in the end, in spite of all the suffering, the sneaking, the hiding…  It all turned out to be absolutely worth it. It was worth it because John was worth it. And John felt the exact same way about Paul. To them, their love was worth it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>SO what do you think? Brian and his jealousy... Poor man, I feel mostly pity for him... Well! Let me know in the comments if you liked the chapter AND if you have any suggestions or ideas please share them! I will be happy to read them. See you when I publish the next one! Un besito.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Just Good Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all: I don't own The Beatles (but they do own me). All these chapters are a work of fiction.</p>
<p>Hello, fellow McLennoners! Thank you for reading the last chapter and leaving comments and kudos! I love to see that you are liking the story. I just want to "warn" you, in a way, that the following chapters will be a bit unpleasant. No trigger warnings, though. The chapters are just going to show a sad reality of how society and the law was in the UK 60 years ago. Still, I hope you like them! And please, be sure that "in order to make an omelette, some eggs must be broken first". (That's a spanish saying which undoubtly makes much more sense in spanish, but you get the point).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You shall not talk to each other, look at each other or even stand close to each other. You must avoid any proximity with one another and, doing so, not a single picture with the two of you together will be taken by the press.”</p>
<p>That’s what Brian had told them, around an hour later of their encounter with the manager. In that time, Brian had planned a complex, but surely effective, scheme by which The Beatles would leave not only Nice, but the country of France, without further fuss than the one already created. They had had to leave in two separate cars: One containing John and George, which had left earlier, and the other with Paul and Ringo. As a matter of fact, Paul hadn’t spoken to John since the latter had left their room to go to the airport. When it had become Paul’s time to leave he had been very much surprised that there weren’t less fans at the hotel’s entrance… Surely, he had settled to the idea that many girls would be angered or disappointed by the picture on the papers and, therefore, would stop obsessively following the band or screaming at the top of their lungs whenever they saw them. That’s why seeing so many people waiting for them to leave had struck him as a surprise. However, Paul was partially wrong and partially right. No, the girls didn’t stop to obsessively follow them and, certainly, they also didn’t stop yelling. The thing is that, what actually did change, was the intention behind those actions. Before the “incident”, the girls acted in those ways fueled by the insane love and obsession that they had for the four musicians… But, since that morning the screams had been, instead of passionate, somewhat aggressive. The young men and women that one day had loved The Beatles now yelled and, sometimes, booed at them out of desperation and hurt. Most of them felt as if the Fab Four had tricked them or, even, betrayed them. As if John, Paul, George and Ringo had been their imaginary boyfriends and, that story about John and Paul going public, had meant a material evidence of the boys cheating on the fans. Of course, that way of thinking was absolutely nuts, but… Most of their fans were quite unstable when it came to them.</p>
<p>John’s trip to the airport had been quiet, really quiet. John knew that under no circumstances he could utter a word about the picture or about Paul McCartney in front of strangers or, to be fair, in front of anyone who wasn’t Brian or the man in question. That’s why his mouth remained shut during the whole ride. It was obvious that, if he was to talk with George, the main theme of the conversation would be, and had to be, this picture. As far as John knew, George had no idea about him and Paul so, naturally, finding out about their two “brothers”, or more like “best friends”, being together or even POSSIBLY being together in the papers didn’t make him happy. It annoyed George, it really did. However, he understood why they hadn’t told and knew he had no reason whatsoever to be angry at John or at Paul. That’s why, during the ride, he had respected John’s silence and did not interfere with the peaceful atmosphere that had been created inside of the cab. John did need some peace and quiet.</p>
<p>Paul’s ride had been quite different. Ringo hadn’t seemed to be affected at all by the news and he had spoken to Paul as if nothing had happened. On the one hand, Paul had really liked it and deeply appreciated Ringo’s understanding and respect, but, on the other hand, he had also wondered if he even knew at all. But Ringo did know and, most of all, he knew how to behave to make Paul feel comfortable.</p>
<p>But, after all that Paul found himself sitting in one of the cabin’s seats, alone with his thoughts. John and him weren’t allowed to move at all, only if they really needed to pee. However, they had also been seated strategically so that they would find it very difficult to take quick glances at each other and, in case they needed the loo, they could go to different ones without coming across one another. Paul was aware that all this strategy was to protect himself, John and the group, but he found it profoundly unnerving. Being deprived of his own liberty of motion left him with only one thing to do: Think. And thinking was the worst psychological torture any human being could bear. George and Ringo had checked up on him a few times, hoping that, as no reporters were around in the plane, he would open up or tell them something… Anything. But it had all been in vain, as Paul decisively hadn’t spoken about anything of that sort and, with his attitude, had indicated his preference to being alone at that moment. Thus, George and Ringo had left. Evidently, Paul wasn’t alright. He felt a weird mixture of sadness, rage, shame, regret and… Loneliness. Yes, he wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t stand feeling lonely. Although he was surrounded by people and both the drummer and the guitarist had tried to make him company he still felt a deep void in his soul. The lack of John around him and, but the realisation that both of them would be forced to stay away from each other for quite some time just… Destroyed the poor bassit. In spite of his strong feeling, he still managed to keep a straight face, as he looked out of the plane’s window and stared at the english meadows. They would soon be home.</p>
<p>“Paul.” Brian called him, sitting next to the bassist.</p>
<p>“Paul, how are you feeling?” The manager wondered, as he placed his hand on top of the other’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Paul slightly nodded and let out a shy smirk, indicating that, overall, he felt alright. Brian knew that was a blatant lie. No one could feel alright in that situation.</p>
<p>“Good.” The manager muttered, as he let go of the bassist’s shoulder. “I wanted to let you know that, before boarding the plane I had a brief talk with Eric, the lawyer I told you about, his name is Eric Johnson… Well, Eric advised me that there is a high probability for an investigation to be held.”</p>
<p>Paul worryingly glanced his manager, wondering if there was enough proof for John and him to actually be thrown into jail.</p>
<p>“However, you must not worry as it seems that there isn’t enough proof for you two to be charged. I mean, you are not kissing in that picture, y’know. So, really, you can just excuse yourselves saying you were… Oh, God… Uhm… Wrestling, for example.” Brian explained, calming Paul with every word he muttered. “And, above all, you haven’t committed a crime in France nor inside the frontiers of the United Kingdom so, if Scotland Yard wants to prosecute you, it might be quite difficult for them to do so.” He added, sighing as he finished the line.</p>
<p>“John knows?” Paul asked, knowing maybe he shouldn’t, but did anyways.</p>
<p>“Yes, he does know.” Brian answered. To that response, Paul lifted his chin up and faced the manager, staring right into his eyes. His stare asked, more like pleaded for more information about his lover. It had been more than enough time forced away from John and he needed to see him or, at least, to know he wasn’t succumbing into one of his nervous breakdowns without Paul’s support.</p>
<p>“He is okay, Paul.” Brian told the bassist, reading the message his eyes sent out. “He is…” The manager added as he lifted himself from the seat and looked back at the rear of the cabin, where John was. “Sleeping. He is sleeping peacefully with his hand on top of his right cheek, keeping his face away from the uncomfortable window.” Brian described, as a soft smile formed on his lips. “He is breathing slowly and he has his sunglasses on… Oh! And he has stained his shirt from a chicken sandwich he ate earlier, but at first glance you wouldn’t notice.” The manager added, now looking back at Paul.</p>
<p>The bassist nodded as a smirk also appeared on his face and stared into the window, imagining what Brian just described. Oh, he would notice. He definitely would notice as he noticed everything that happened on and around John. A soft noise went off and warned the passengers to be seated and put the belts on, as they were about to land.</p>
<p>“Well, I must leave now.” Brian said, approaching the hallway. “I’ll see you in a bit.”</p>
<p>“Bye.” Paul mumbled, still staring at the window and wondering if John was dreaming about him… About them in Paris, for example, running under the french rain without any umbrellas or laying on the grass next to the Tour Eiffel as Paul left quick pecks on John’s precious, beautiful hands… He had beautiful hands.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>“You two will go after, okay? But I will still stay behind everybody to get a whole picture of the situation.” Brian explained Ringo and Paul how the ‘get off the plane’ plan would go.</p>
<p>“Let’s do it!” Ringo exclaimed, trying to lift Paul’s spirits up.</p>
<p>“Yes, okay, on your feet.” Brian agreed, lifting himself up from the seat and signaled some of the tour staff to go out first. The people started to move and, when they were ready, the plane door was opened. A typical loud roar filled the cabin and hurt everyone’s ears inside of it. However, it pleased Brian as, up to then, everything was going strictly as planned. The first people had already left the plane, which made Brian order both John and George to approach to the door.</p>
<p>“Come on, we are acting like the bloody Queen’s guard.” John complained, not really annoyed by the spectacle as he understood the necessity of it.</p>
<p>John’s voice startled Paul, who tried to incorporate himself in order to see his lover as soon as possible. John’s auburn hair stood out when he lifted himself from his seat and, doing so, Paul could ever so slightly peek at it. Paul’s head moved from one place to another, trying to find the angle that would help him look at John better. When John finally made his way to the rows near Paul, he also started to look for Paul’s dark mop-top. When he found it, he smiled sweetly and took out a small piece of paper he had turned into a tiny ball. Paul and John finally made eye contact for the first time in hours, both of them smiling into the other’s eyes, realising how much they had needed it. Their glance was short, but for the two musicians time ran slower when their eyes collided.</p>
<p>“Come on, it’s time.” The manager encouraged John and George to move.</p>
<p>John threw the small paper ball at Paul, who caught it instantly, and left the aircraft.</p>
<p>“Remember to wave, John. Act normal… Oh, God.” Brian reminded the rhythm guitarist and sighed as he watched John ignoring his advises and doing some silly dances just as he stepped out.</p>
<p>Paul held the tiny bit of paper on his hands and, as soon as he stopped being able to look at John, he unwrapped the ball of paper to discover what was written inside of it: ‘Just good friends.’ Paul smiled, as a warmth sprung inside his torso and lifted his spirits. ‘Good friends.’ Two simple words with such profound meaning for them both. That’s what they told their respective families when they inquirly asked about the other. When Jim McCartney had worried about the future of his oldest son beside that teddy boy, Paul had told him: ‘Come on Dad, don’t be like that. We’re just good friends.’ And when Mimi had despised Paul’s lack of manners and wondered why John had started to hang out with such a young boy John had said: ‘Knock it off, Mimi. We’re just good friends.’</p>
<p><em>Just good friends…</em> John and Paul had always been ‘just good friends’ for the entire world, but ‘just good friends’ don’t look at each other like that. ‘Just good friends’ don’t lack personal space with one another and, certainly, ‘just good friends’ don’t touch where John and Paul had touched, they don’t kiss where John and Paul had kissed and, over all, they don’t complete each other just as much as John and Paul had completed each other, literally and figuratively. Paul kept that note to himself and shoved it inside his trousers’ pocket.</p>
<p>After John and George some other people had left the plane and now it was Paul’s turn to leave with Ringo by his side. Mal handed them both their luggage and off they went.</p>
<p>“Remember to wave, no matter what.” Brian whispered.</p>
<p>Sunbeam attacked Paul’s eyes and he was forced to close them for a slight fraction of a second. British summer could be like that, gloomy and sunny in a time span of ten minutes. He looked around the highway of the airport to see plenty of reporters with their cameras ready to take a picture or already doing so. On the airport’s building there were fans, screaming at the top of their lungs. Paul couldn’t distinguish if the yelling was the ‘normal’ yelling or if it was like the one from the french fans.</p>
<p>Paul started to walk down the stairs as he smiled and waved, following Brian’s indications. He spotted John a bit further away. He was following some of the tour staff to the airport as many reporters overwhelmed the rhythm guitarist with questions he knew he wasn’t supposed to answer. Once he reached the end of the stairs he walked up to the airport’s building, being closely followed by Ringo.</p>
<p>“Man, this is crazy.” The drummer muttered. “I’ve never seen so many journalists together in a runway!” He exclaimed, but Ringo was right. Never in the story of The Beatles had there ever been so many reporters at a landing and, yes, it was madness.</p>
<p>The journalists fought each other to approach the musicians shoving their cameras close to their faces and randomly asking questions to them, hoping they would answer.</p>
<p>“Mr. McCartney, do you have anything to say about your picture with Mr. Lennon?” One of the men screamed.</p>
<p>Paul quickly glanced at him, while following the tour staff towards the building. He obviously didn’t answer, but couldn’t help to frown as a response, which encouraged the other reportes to keep asking.</p>
<p>“Mr. McCartney, sir, for how long have you been hiding your relationship?” Another yelled.</p>
<p>Paul fixed his eyes on the pavement, preventing himself from doing anything that could be misunderstood as an answer. These men just assumed that him and John had a romance… Well, they weren’t wrong, but the way in which they asked the questions felt repulsive. As if John and Paul had supposedly done something shameful, when, in reality, it was completely the opposite. The tone of disgust that the questions of the reporters had repulsed Paul and profoundly angered him.</p>
<p>“Is your relationship a queer fairytale?” A journalist wondered, making many men laugh in response.</p>
<p>Paul dropped his luggage on the floor and fastly walked up to the man in question before grabbing him by his shirt’s neck. The crowd gasped as they witnessed the beatle almost beat up one of their fellow colleagues.</p>
<p>“Paul!” Brian exclaimed from the distance. Ringo tried to approach his friend, but was pushed away by some journalists.</p>
<p>That cry grabbed John’s attention, who stopped his walking and turned back to see his lover holding a reporter, with raging eyes. John blinked twice before realising the seriousness behind that act and, once he did, he also dropped his luggage and walked up to Paul, squeezing himself between the other reporters who dumbfoundedly looked at the aggressive display.</p>
<p>The journalist kept a cheeky smirk on his face as he analysed Paul’s actions. “What are you gonna do, Paul?” He asked, chucking. “Give me a kiss?” Paul let out his fury and, somehow, his strength, as he lifted the journalist in order to strongly throw him at the pavement, hoping he would hit his goddamn head. A voice stopped him.</p>
<p>“Paul.” John muttered, dead serious, as he approached the bassist and stood by his side.</p>
<p>Paul stopped staring at the reporter and glanced at his lover, changing his expression as he did so. John kept a straight face, his seriousness being highly noticed in spite of his dark sunglasses. The bassist’s eyebrows raised, waiting for John’s words to come out of his mouth.</p>
<p>“It’s not worth it.” John added, lightly shaking his head.</p>
<p>Paul’s hands let go of the reporter, who sharply fell to the floor. The musicians were still looking at each other as murmurs began to be heard. John broke the glance once he quickly took a look at the airport’s building and pointed at it.</p>
<p>“Come on.” He invited Paul to walk with him and the bassist took his luggage before starting to approach the rhythm guitarist. The reporter was kneeling on the floor, placing one his hands on his neck and annoyingly groaning.</p>
<p>“You fucking poofter.” He mumbled. Something twisted inside John’s mind. Suddenly it felt as if it was worth it. He turned and, without breaking a sweat, he forcefully punched the man’s jaw, making the latter tremble and be knocked out on the floor. Worried exclamations started to be heard and both John and Paul felt a slight deja-vu, as if they were back in Hamburg or Liverpool getting into a fight every two or three days.</p>
<p>John quickly walked up to Paul and whispered, somewhat smirking: “Hurry.” And they did, they started to trot towards the tour staff, not being at all aware of the problems that action could and maybe would cost them.</p>
<p>“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Brian hissed. The manager approached the man who hadn’t moved yet and started to sillily apologize, surrounded by plenty of reporters that had never ceased to take pictures.</p>
<p>When they finally arrived to the terminal, they were able to reunite with the rest of the staff except Brian and some others, who had stayed back trying to fix the little incident John and Paul created, well, more like the reporter had provoked. The group stood in front of a small road and each member chose one cab to return home with. The drivers helped with the luggage and George and Ringo fastly got inside of their respective cars. John and Paul did not do that. They both were standing in front of their cabs’ backdoor and, as a matter of fact, they had already opened them and were ready to hop in. However, they took some seconds before entering and gazed at each other. A dangerous gaze, surely, as many reporters and fans still were surrounding them, but, also, it was a reassuring gaze. A gaze that acknowledged the utter craziness that had developed in less than ten hours and a gaze that, in a way, made them feel that everything would be alright as long as they were alright. John gently nodded and let a shy smirk form on his lips before entering the vehicle and Paul followed, getting inside his own cab as well.</p>
<p>Both men’s rides were peaceful, long and peaceful. John had stared at the tiny drops on the car’s window the whole ride thinking, more like wondering if Cynthia would still be home when he arrived. Hoping she would be understanding and that, somehow, he would be able to trick her once again into thinking she was his one and only. Mimi was another problem completely and John hadn’t the slightest idea on how to face it, but he would do it nevertheless. Paul spent his ride reading a book. He didn’t really cared about it and that’s why he read the words but, in reality, his mind was occupied trying to picture his father’s rage at the moment. Jim had always blamed John for Paul’s change in the late fifties, but now with this he would surely blame him too… When they finally arrived at their respectives houses, many members of the press were waiting for a brief statement and, to be fair, both musicians knew they had had to memorize the one Brian wrote for them, but they hadn’t really done so.</p>
<p>“Thank you.” Paul muttered, before taking the luggage from the driver’s hands and turning around to face the people that waited for him.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Cheers.” John said, as he waved goodbye to the driver and walked up to his house’s door, which was surrounded by reporters that screamt his name.</em>
</p>
<p>“Paul!” The journalists exclaimed, begging for the statement. Paul laughed in response and, before opening Cavendish’s front door, he turned to face the reporters as he slowly inhaled some needed air.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Okay, lads, okay.” John mumbled, as the reporters quieted down in order to listen to his statement. “I know why you’re here and, first off, I wanted to say that this unfortunate event has been taken out of proportion.”</em>
</p>
<p>“This picture is taken out of context and both John and I absolutely understand the surprise and, even the shock this photograph might have provoked.” Paul explained.</p>
<p>
  <em>“On behalf of The Beatles we want to assure you that there is absolutely nothing to worry about this incident. Trust me when I tell you that our preference under the skirts is the same as any other respectable man’s would be. If you don’t believe me ask my wife.” John chuckled at his remark, but was answered by the silent attention of the journalist. “Overall…” John started to drift from Brian’s original script. “I want to make clear that during my life, I have been many places in which I’ve spent precious moments with lovers and friends that I still can recall. Some have died, but some are still living and in my life I’ve loved them all.”</em>
</p>
<p>“But of all my friends there is no one that compares with him. We’ve grown up together, learned together, discovered life together and that’s why I hold John in a very special place in my heart. He is a caring man. A funny man… A hilarious man. He loves too much, cares too much but, in response, receives too little from shallow people that only stick around because of his fame. And I find that all my memories lose their meaning, when I think of our friendship as something different, as something... new.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Though I know I will never lose affection for the people and the things that have been around before and I know I’ll often stop and think about them… In my life I’ll love him... more. Paul McCartney has saved me from myself. He knows me better than anyone, because no one has been able to remain by my side as much time as Paul has.” </em>
</p>
<p>“And I’m certain that I will never stop loving or caring for the other people and things that have been before and I’m sure that I’ll often think about them… But, in my life John’s special. We’ve gone from playing at some poor and sad Liverpool’s feasts to playing in front of the Queen Mother, y’know. And that is plainly wild. My whole life would have been completely different without him so yes, we do mean quite a lot for one another, but that’s because, in reality, we…”</p>
<p>
  <em>“We…”</em>
</p>
<p><strong><em>“We are just good friends.”</em></strong> Both musicians said, finishing their brief, but personal statement to the press.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you liked the chapter! Leave a comment if you feel like it ('cause I love reading your opinions). Once again, please bear in mind that the suffering these two are going through wont be in vain ;) Cheers!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 'You are doing this to yourself'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! I'm back after quite a few days. I'm very sorry for the delay, but I try to have, at least, the next chapter of the one I'm publishing already finished and MAN did it take some work to write. Just saying that chapter eight will be a long one. However, I hope you enjoy this chapter, which is very very important for the boys mental stability, and let me warn you beforehand that it has quite a lot of homophobic behaviours and terms that go in accordance to the era. Thanks for reading, leaving kudos and comments!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Paul stood inside his house’s hall, his hands still occupied with his luggage. He waited there, listening carefully to the silence that filled the entire building. A silence that could only mean one thing… He was alone and, therefore, Jane had left. Paul rushed upstairs and entered his bedroom. He threw the suitcases on top of his bed and opened every wardrobe the room had. Doing so, he discovered Jane had left in all seriousness, taking with her all of her clothes and all of her things. Paul chuckled at the thought that, finally, that crazy redhead had left him alone. It relieved him as, these last months, he had been quite fed up with that woman. However, he knew he had to gain her back. Brian had explicitly told them, both John and Paul, that they needed to have a cover and Jane was his safest one yet.</p>
<p>He ran his fingers across his hair and reached for a ciggie. As he lit it, he walked downstairs towards the telephone that hang on the wall. ‘Where can she be now?’ Paul wondered, before dialing… Not sure which house to call. ‘Oh! The apartment.’ She would have surely moved back to his brother’s apartment in London Centre, where they had lived for a while before moving to Cavendish. He closed his eyes and frowned, trying hard to remember the telephone number. A few seconds later, he stuck his finger inside one of the phone holes and started to dial, hoping he got it right.</p>
<p>“Hello?” A soft female voice said. It was her, Jane.</p>
<p>Silence followed her words, as Paul hadn’t really thought of what to say.</p>
<p>“Uhm.. Err… Yes, hello. Jane?” He managed to utter.</p>
<p>“Paul? Is this you?” She wondered, her voice sounding already tired of him.</p>
<p>“Yeah. It’s me.”</p>
<p>She remained silent, not sure if she should hang up at that precise instant.</p>
<p>“Jane, listen… I- I noticed you left.” He remarked the obvious, knowing the conversation wasn’t going well at all and he had to fix it.</p>
<p>“I’m happy you noticed, Paul. I’m happy you finally noticed something about me.” Her sharp words hit Paul like thin daggers.</p>
<p>“Come on, Jane… Don’t be like that.” He sighed, placing a hand on his forehead and rubbing it softly.</p>
<p>“Like what?” She defied.</p>
<p>“Like THAT.”</p>
<p>More silence.</p>
<p>“Okay, Jane. I’m sorry. That’s what you wanted to hear? I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”</p>
<p>“Stop it.” She demanded “If you were actually sorry you would have called me this morning straightaway. If you were really sorry you would have cared for me, you would have cared for my bloody feelings, but you didn’t and you don’t. So stop pretending you are sorry. I’m sick and tired of you pretending to feel something for me… Of you pretending to love me.” Her voice cracked. “And it seems like both John and you also are done with pretending.”</p>
<p>Paul’s world trembled at her words. </p>
<p>“Jane, try to see it my way.” Paul begged.</p>
<p>“I always see it your fucking way, Paul. I’d like it if you tried to see it my way for the first time ever!” She yelled, hitting the phone on the wall and leaving the room, crying.</p>
<p>“Jane? Jane?!” Paul called, hopelessly.</p>
<p>He hung the phone and rested his back on the wall, letting himself slide down until he sat on the floor. One of his hands hid his face. He couldn’t believe how pigheaded that woman could be sometimes and, worst of all, he knew what she was capable of doing when rage took a hold of her actions. Paul thought that there was a high chance that their love would publicly fall apart before too long, if it hadn’t already.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>“Oh, sweet Julian.” John exclaimed as he tossed the little boy in the air. “I missed you so much... Did you miss me?” He asked the two-year old. </p>
<p>Julian answers consisted of high-pitched laughs. He enjoyed having fun with his father as it was very rare thing to happen.</p>
<p>John chuckled and held his son in a tight embrace. Cynthia watched the lovely scene from some feet away, smirking bitter-sweetly. She wasn’t able to forget the picture and the story she had read in the papers, although she desperately wanted to.</p>
<p>“John.” She mumbled, still smiling. “I have some tea ready if you fancy some.” She added.</p>
<p>“Sure.” John replied, leaving Julian on the floor. “Go play, darling.”</p>
<p>The kid obeyed, even though he didn’t want to, but feared to anger his father. John walked up to Cynthia and hugged her, sweetly, just as she liked it. John kissed her blonde hair,  as one of his hands playfully travelled from her lower back to cup her ass.</p>
<p>“John!” She exclaimed, backing away and nervously giggling. </p>
<p> “I’ve been away too long, don’t you think?” A wicked smile appeared on John’s lips, as he came closer to the woman, closing the space between the two.</p>
<p>“Yes! I mean, no- Well, yes, but no.” She muttered, confusing herself and also confusing John, who stared at her as she backed up once again.</p>
<p>“Just.” She sighed, fixing her hair “Let’s just have tea.” </p>
<p>‘Right. Tea.’ John wondered, raising one eyebrow. A respectable englishman (or woman) never had tea without a further purpose, like discussing a wedding or a family feud. And Cynthia wasn’t any different so, yeah, they were going to talk about it. Cynthia had a slight obsession with talking about stuff, like talking about how they didn’t fuck anymore or talking about her mother being financially unstable… A bit exasperating in John’s way of thinking, but, truthfully, this incident was worth talking about.</p>
<p>John sat on one of the sofas and waited for Cynthia to come with a tray. Once she did, she started serving the tea, calmly.</p>
<p>“So, how was the trip?” She asked, not brave enough to just jump into the topic.</p>
<p>“Short.” John bluntly replied. He hated small talk and, most of all, wasting his own time in it.</p>
<p>“Oh… But, did you have a good time?”</p>
<p>John looked at her as she poured the tea in one of the cups. He didn’t answer and waited for Cynthia to glance back at him, knowing she would understand his stare.</p>
<p>“Uhm…” She cleared her throat. “John, I- I wanted to ask you about… Well…”</p>
<p>“The picture, yes.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” She nodded, handing her husband a cup.</p>
<p>“Cynthia, are you really worried about it?” John asked, as he stared into Cyn’s eyes. “How come you are worried about such nonsense! You know Paul and me! We’re best pals.”</p>
<p>“Yes. I know, John, but… The papers make it look so believable, I guess… I don’t know, John. I’m sorry, but I’m just worried that-”</p>
<p>“What are you worried about?” He said, as he left the cup on the coffee table. “Did you really think for a slight instant that I was cheating on you with PAUL?” He added, approaching his wife, who sat on an armchair close to him. “Do you hear how bloody ridiculous that sounds?!”</p>
<p>Cynthia nodded in response, now looking down onto the floor. Not being able to face his husband as shame filled her soul. How could she had been so silly. John was right. Now that she gave it some thought it sounded absolutely crazy. John placed his hand on Cynthia’s forearm and gently stroke it.</p>
<p>“You know how I feel about you, Cyn.” He misled her, whispering.</p>
<p>Cynthia kept nodding, but still didn’t face his husband. John placed his other hand on his wife’s chin and lifted it, forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were glassy, ever so slightly, those tears were provoked by a mixture of shame, sadness and nervousness. John closed the space between both’s lips and kissed his wife slowly, sweetly. A kiss that, in a way, begged for forgiveness and, in return, offered reassurance. A kiss that meant so much to her, but so little to him. </p>
<p>Once they broke the contact, Cynthia sighed deeply with her eyes closed, not wanting to ever forget that feeling of reassurance and trust she, every once in a while, got from John’s touch.</p>
<p>“Your aunt called.” She mumbled, opening her eyes and with a silly grin.</p>
<p>“What?” </p>
<p>“Yes, she called this morning.” She added, as she left soft pecks on John’s cheek.</p>
<p>“And what did she want?” John worryingly asked, backing from his wife’s lips.</p>
<p>“To speak with you, but I told her you were away. I thought she knew.”</p>
<p>“How did she sound?” John kept asking, sitting up from the sofa and walking towards the telephone.</p>
<p>“Bit rougher than normal, but-”</p>
<p>“Fuck.” The rhythm guitarist muttered, as he got out to the room and reached the telephone. He dialed Mimi’s number hoping she wouldn’t pick up, but she did.</p>
<p>“Hello?”</p>
<p>“Mimi. It’s me, John.”</p>
<p>“Oh John, good. I wanted to have a word with you, young man.” Mimi declared, sounding just like Cynthia had described her: Rougher than normal.</p>
<p>“I’ve been forced to read, listen and watch the same story today over and over again. I assume you know which story I’m talking about, right?”</p>
<p>John nodded, but, when he noticed Mimi couldn’t see him he made an agreeing sound.<br/>“Well, young man. You better explain it to me.” She demanded, sounding quite annoyed and prepared to snap at any second if the replies she got weren’t of her pleasing.</p>
<p>“Ehm… Mimi… You know what happens when you buy cheap papers. You get cheap stories.” He nervously chuckled.</p>
<p>“I don’t find it funny in any possible way.” Aunt Mimi snapped, forcing a sigh out of John’s mouth. “Is it true, John? Is it really?” She added, trying not to sound anxious, but she did anyways. It was definitely strange for Mimi to express any emotion close or related to weakness, so John found himself quite shocked by Mimi’s urge of knowing the truth that it made him wonder if she should.</p>
<p>John remained in silence for a brief period of time, but enough for Mimi to already make up various scenarios in her head. To her, silence wasn’t a ‘no’ and, therefore, it meant ‘yes’.</p>
<p>“How is it possible?” She wondered, sighing afterwards. “How is it possible I never noticed?” Mimi added. </p>
<p>John blinked quite a few times before answering. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“John, you two were always together. Ever since you met… God, I find it impossible to count the many times he spent the night at our house… I feel so utterly stupid. If I had realised earlier… Well, maybe you still can be fixed.” </p>
<p>Maybe you still can be fixed.</p>
<p>John was greatly taken aback by Mimi’s statement. Fix him? She had spent his entire childhood and a great part of his teenage years trying to fix everything about John. His looks, his personality, his interests, his dreams. She had eagerly tried for years and years to erase John’s persona and, her plans were that once she’d had, she’d build a new man. A man who would have never questioned her, question authority. A man who would remain in silence when people expected him to. A man who would politely laugh at the demeaning bullcrap Mimi’s overbearing friends said about the lower-class workers. A man who would remain still as he watched the suffering of hundreds of people provoked by an unfair political, economical and social system just because it benefited his white-ass.</p>
<p>No. John wasn’t that man and would never be that man, because there’s nothing he repulsed more than the ‘norm’ and ‘normality’. He had never been normal. He had strived to never ever resemble normality, because there was nothing he feared more than waking up one day and realising that he’d been consumed by schedules, office work and timetables. There was nothing he feared more than living the life he didn’t want to live and, at that moment, he wanted to live his life, his dream, with a man. Yes, a man. A man whose name was Paul McCartney and he would never again let people make John feel shameful about his decision. About his decision to pursue the happiness he had longed for, for many years.</p>
<p>“John?” Mimi called, as all she could hear was the erratic breathing of her nephew.</p>
<p>John hung up the phone, leaving his aunt with no answer. </p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>The phone’s ringing startled Paul. For some reason, he didn’t expect anyone calling him at the moment, but he soon realised everyone had enough reasons to call him that dreadful day. The bassit put the magazine he was reading aside and sat up from the sofa, before approaching the telephone.</p>
<p>“Hello?” Paul answered quickly.</p>
<p>“I can’t believe you didn’t call straightaway!” Jim McCartney’s angry voice spat.</p>
<p>“Da’! I wanted to but,-”</p>
<p>“But you didn’t.” Paul’s father snapped.</p>
<p>Jim’s tone became even harsher and made evident to Paul that his father was close to furious and, most probably, it was because of that unfortunate picture.</p>
<p>“D-Da’…” Paul slightly suttered. “Are you alright?” </p>
<p>“How can I be alright, Paul? How can I be alright knowing what that bloody John fucking Lennon has done to my son?! HOW?!” Jim shouted.</p>
<p>Paul was shocked by his father’s reaction. It was much worse than what he had expected. </p>
<p>“What do you even mean?! He did nothing to me!” Paul shouted back.</p>
<p>“Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone, young man! I am still your father, no matter what that Lennon has done to your poor mind.” </p>
<p>“Dad, John’s done nothing. He-” Paul tried to explain.</p>
<p>“Of course he has. He has been changing you since you two met, Paul. First, you join a skiffle band, then you don’t go to college and INSTEAD you go to one of the most dangerous city’s in Germany… And now…” Jim’s voice lightly trembled. “Now I find out that because of that man, my SON is deviated. My beloved son…”</p>
<p>“No! You-” Paul tried to say, again.</p>
<p>“Your mother and I raised you with so much love and care…” Jim cut his son. “And here he comes, John bloody Lennon, and throws all our efforts out of the fucking window. Like it never happened!”</p>
<p>“Dad, listen to me! For Christ’s sake, he didn’t change me. I’ve always been this way and you know it. I’ve always loved rock music, no matter how much you tried to talk me out of it. I’ve always loved danger and adventures and, most importantly, dad, I’ve- For some reason, I’ve always had feelings…” Paul’s voice faded as he tried to find the strength he needed to keep going. “For John. So, no, dad, John didn’t change me. John was the reason I realised that the life you… and mum wanted me to have wasn’t the one I was and I am destined to have.”</p>
<p>Jim remained silent for a few seconds, realising that what he feared was, in fact, true.</p>
<p>“So it’s true then…” Jim sighed. “I hoped it wasn’t, but it seems that it is.”</p>
<p>“What is?”</p>
<p>“That you are a bleeding poofter, son.” Jim barked, fury taking a hold of his words.</p>
<p>Paul lightly gasped. He never expected his father to insult him with such an aggressive demeanor.</p>
<p>“Well, son. Mind to know a thing? Mind a piece of advice from your ‘father’?” Jim said, emphasizing the word ‘father’ and, in a subtle way, indicating that he didn’t feel like Paul’s father anymore. </p>
<p>“You’ll never find love. You’ll never find true love and, therefore, you’ll never be truly happy.” Jim spat. “You can surround yourself by money, stuff, men… And you will never ever feel happily fulfilled. Paul, you perfectly know what the natural thing is, the thing human beings are destined to. Men and women must be together. It’s just how it works, how it even fits, Paul. And you are sick. You and your Johnny-boy are sick and, for the worst or for the best, you two live in a world in which you have to remain hidden as the law goes after people like you.” Paul could feel a smile on Jim’s face as he finished that sentence. <br/>“In a few days, sweet darling, no one will buy your records no more, your reputation will be forever stained and your income will plummet. When that happens, when you have to sell everything you own… Your car, your instruments, your home, don’t come crying to dad. Don’t come, because you will not be allowed to enter this house. You will lose your so-called ‘dream’, the ‘life you’re destined to’ as you say, because you, deviated thing, deserve it. So enjoy your dream-life while it lasts. And don’t be confused as you see it fade away, like water dripping from your hands. Just remember that, in the end, you are doing this to yourself.” </p>
<p>Paul stood there, taking in every single one of his father’s words. His body slowly adopted a defeating position and his eyes stared blankly at the floor. The bassist, no matter how against he was to Jim’s thinking and no matter how much he repulsed his beliefs, couldn’t help but see a point in his father’s statement. </p>
<p>“You don’t love me anymore, do you?” Paul wondered, with a cracky voice that gave away how hurt he was.</p>
<p>“Oh, Paul… Of course I love you. I love so much that I hope you soon see how you’re ruining your life with the decisions you’re making.” Jim stated. “Bye, son.” </p>
<p>“Bye.” Paul timidly replied, his voice barely making any sound. He hung up the phone and slowly walked back to the sofa. </p>
<p>He had been stupid enough to think that the situation couldn’t get worse, but his little conversation with his father proved him that, surely, it could and, definitely, it had. He sat on the sofa and placed both of his hands on his temples. He rubbed them, trying to sooth his sadness in any possible way. His father wasn’t right, his father was a close-minded old man and he didn’t comprehend the situation Paul was in at the very moment… </p>
<p>Or did he? Paul couldn’t help but wonder, no matter how much he didn’t want to, but he wondered that, maybe, it was possible that his father was the one who understood the situation best. Paul had been dumb enough to not realise, or maybe not want to realise, how stained his reputation was and would be forever if he didn’t do anything more drastic. Had he ruined his band’s reputation as well? Would he lose everything he had? His house? His instruments? His dream? And only being 23… He had all his life ahead of him and it already felt like it was about to end, at least the one he knew. </p>
<p>It was unfair. He didn’t deserve this. John didn’t deserve this, neither did George or Ringo or even Brian and George Martin. Those had done nothing wrong, but still they’d suffer the consequences of his silly affair. ‘Silly?’ Paul thought. Had it been really silly? Had it never been the true love and connection he had always felt? He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t even remember correctly his bloody relationship with John. His mind was fucked up and he wanted to scream. He took a cushion and threw it across the room, but it didn’t feel enough. He then took a crystal ashtray and slammed it on the floor. He enjoyed the sound of destruction. Of all those little pieces breaking away and hitting the wood. He looked around, trying to find more things to break, but his house was barely furnished… He had moved in a month ago. His eyes fixated on a vase, a metal one. It wouldn’t break, but I’d be enough. Paul’s hand took ahold of the object and the bassist screamt his lungs out as he projected it towards the kitchen. ‘The kitchen!’ Paul’s mind seemed to light. The kitchen was a world of possibilities. Plates, glasses, bowls, cups-</p>
<p>The door’s ringing cut Paul’s train of thought and, at the same, worried him. Before approaching the door, he looked around at his living room, which was an utter mess. The person behind the door rang, once again, and made Paul hurry up. </p>
<p>“Who is it?” Paul asked, knowing that he could only open the door to a small number of people.</p>
<p>“George.” The guitarist replied. “Come on, open up!”</p>
<p>And Paul did so. He quickly opened the door and let George in.</p>
<p>“How did you open the front door?” Paul wondered.</p>
<p>“Brian gave me a key. I could’ve opened this one too, y’see. But I didn’t want to scare you to death…” George chuckled.</p>
<p>Paul chuckled in response and guided his friend to the living room.</p>
<p>“Fucking hell, Paul. What have you been doing? Redecorating?” George stated, just as he noticed the mess on the floor.</p>
<p>“Oh…” Paul lightly laughed. “It slipped.”</p>
<p>“Yeah…” George replied. “I guess that slipped too, right?” He added, pointing at the metal vase.</p>
<p>Paul looked at the object in question as a silly grin appeared on his face.</p>
<p>“I can be very clumsy, sometimes.” He lied. Paul was never clumsy and George knew that. “Please, sit, George. Do you want sum’ tea or…?”</p>
<p>“No! Don’t bother, I’m leaving soon.” George said, as he sat. “I just wanted to pop by and check that you were okay and… If you wanted to, I don’t know, maybe talk about everything.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Paul sighed, sitting close to George. “Thank you for worrying, George, but I’m okay.”</p>
<p>George stared at his friend and raised his bushy eyebrows. He then looked at the pieces of crystal on the floor and glanced back at Paul, making a point.</p>
<p>Paul lightly snorted, finally realising that there was no point in lying to George anymore. “I’m going through a rough patch, honestly.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I figured.” George mumbled. “But, it’s true then? You two… Y’know.”</p>
<p>“Yes, it is. I’m sorry…” Paul sighed, bowing his head.</p>
<p>“What are you sorry for?”</p>
<p>“For not telling you before. Maybe if we had we wouldn’t have been dragged into this mess. Maybe your lives wouldn’t be ruined.”</p>
<p>George stared worryingly at his friend, who kept his gaze away from the guitarist and his head down.</p>
<p>“Don’t be daft, Paul.” George demanded, placing his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Don’t be silly! You have done nothing wrong, you know you haven’t-”</p>
<p>“Yes, I have…” Paul cut George.</p>
<p>“No. No, you have not.” George insisted, putting more pressure on his grip on Paul. “Loving is not wrong, Paul.”</p>
<p>“But look where it has taken us.” The bassist stated, with a serious expression.</p>
<p>“And so what?! Paul, don’t think that you are to blame here. You or John. Because you aren’t. You are the victim of a law that should have been abolished years ago, decades ago!” George remarked his words with various hand movements. Paul could tell that his friend was being completely serious and, in addition, he was speaking from the heart, with passion. “Don’t worry, Paul, because we are going to get through this together, like the brothers we are, okay? You are never going to be alone. You have us. You have John. You have your family.”</p>
<p>‘My family that just kicked me out of their lives.’ Paul thought. Still, he nodded at his friends words. He agreed with him, strongly, but his conversation with his father had induced such fear and sorrow on Paul… George was right, Paul thought, but he lived in a world in which his father’s opinion was the general and accepted opinion. So he knew that there was no use in living by his standards, by what Paul thought was right, if he’d lose everything because of it. And he would lose everything because of it.</p>
<p>“So, have you two shagged?” George asked, quite straightforwardly. </p>
<p>He took Paul by surprise. The bassist cleared his thoughts and glanced at his friend, checking if he truly wanted an answer. A slight rise of George’s eyebrows indicated Paul that, indeed, he wanted to know, so he cleared his voice and, with a slow nod, replied: “Yeah.”</p>
<p>“GOD!” George exclaimed.</p>
<p>“Hey, YOU asked.” Paul laughed.</p>
<p>“Yes, but I didn’t expect that! Christ! And how exactly…? Okay, forget it. Forget it.”</p>
<p>George had achieved what he wanted, to light up Paul’s mood who was, in fact, laughing hysterically. In spite of not knowing, George had helped Paul forget his bitter conversation with Jim and, still without any clue, helped Paul feel happy again for the first time since that morning. Good ol’ George.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you enjoyed the chapter! If you have any opinions, suggestions or whatever please leave a comment! I love reading all of you sharing your minds about the fanfiction! Lots of love &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Behind Bars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! I'm back after a looong time, but this chapter took quite a lot to write. It's a bit longer than the others, but I suppose you don't mind jejej ;) BTW I had a wisdom tooth removed so that also contributed to the delay, but I feel much better now! I hope you enjoy the new chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> “John!” Cynthia cried, forcefully shaking her husband, who still slept, even though it was almost noon.</p><p> </p><p>“John, please.” She added, still desperate to wake her husband up.</p><p> </p><p>John slightly opened his eyes, very much confused by Cynthia’s actions. He incorporated himself and pushed away his wife’s hands from his body.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He mumbled as he faced her, not understanding the desperate attitude with which he had been awoken.</p><p> </p><p>“John!” She cried once again, as she walked away from her husband and approached the door. “You must hurry, the police is here for you.” Cynthia added with a shaky voice, worryingly staring at her husband.</p><p> </p><p>John, dumbfounded, mumbled some incomprehensive words. He slightly shook his head as his glance drifted to his white bedsheets. ‘So it’s happening.’ He thought. ‘It’s fucking happening.’ He weakly sighed and let the realisation come to place. Yes, it was happening. But he would get through this. They would get through it, together.</p><p> </p><p>“John!” Cynthia urged the rhythm guitarist, still waiting for him to react.</p><p> </p><p>The palpable worry on Cynthia’s voice made John get up and start undressing. His fingers raced through the buttons of his pyjamas’ shirt and his feet tried to lower his trousers, a weird strategy that, instead of helping John, made him lose balance. Once he had stripped almost completely, he opened the wardrobe and picked some dark clothes, without giving it much thought. As he put them on, he looked around the room trying to find his glasses. He would need them and he knew it, but for some reason they weren't to be found. He didn’t have much time to make himself look presentable, he didn’t wash his teeth, comb his hair or even shower. But, before leaving the room he quickly took ahold of a pair of sunglasses, which would help to hide his freshly awoken expression. John rapidly walked down the stairs towards the entrance. There, Cynthia was speaking with one of the officers, who, apparently, felt that he had waited long enough and had an urge to enter the house and force John out.</p><p> </p><p>Just as Cynthia saw his husband’s figure walk down the stairs, she raised her eyebrows with an exasperated demeanour. “I told you he was coming.” She said, once John neared her.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. John Winston Lennon.” One of the officers declared as he grabbed John by his shoulders and turned him around. “You are under arrest for committing specific acts of homosexual indecency.” He added, now bringing John’s hands together behind his back and restraining his wrists with handcuffs. John didn’t resist or adopt a violent behaviour. He just remained silent and let the weight of reality place over his shoulders, just as he felt the coldness of the handcuffs touch his skin.</p><p> </p><p>“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” The officer kept reciting as he forcefully guided John out of his own house. John managed to look back at Cynthia one last time. He was able to see her trying to distract Julian from the awful scene she was experiencing. The policeman slightly pushed John forward, towards the street, which was packed with reporters and fans… Fans?</p><p> </p><p>“You have the right to an attorney. If you desire an attorney and cannot afford one, which I doubt, an attorney will be obtained for you before police questioning.” The man added, placing John in front of the police car’s door. John inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to pace his heartbeats. It was happening, but they were going to be alright. Paul had said so. They were going to be okay or, at least, that’s what John wanted and needed to believe.</p><p> </p><p>Out there, he felt judged, very judged by the people that surrounded him. He tried to look around, a difficult task if you take into account he faced the car and not the people and, besides, he wasn’t supposed to move. A group of young men, probably teenagers, held some Beatle albums, which had been defaced. One of the boys hurled around the ‘Beatles For Sale’ album but, it didn’t look right to John. He didn’t have his glasses and, furthermore, he had his sunglasses on so he didn’t know what they had changed exactly, but the album had been manipulated for it to read ‘Beatles Faggots’ instead of ‘For Sale’.</p><p> </p><p>“Can we really blame Lennon for this, boys?” One of them exclaimed, purposely trying to catch John’s attention. “The bloody Paul cocksucking McCartney looks like a fucking lass!”</p><p> </p><p>John stared bluntly at the boy whose words made his blood boil. He shouldn’t do it. He knew he shouldn’t. He couldn’t do it, but, still he abruptly moved his shoulders to free himself of the officer’s hold on him and furiously approached the group of teens. As he did so, he uselessly shook his wrists, trying to get rid of the handcuffs that tightly restrained his movement. The boys nervously started to walk back and, curiously, the one who had insulted John’s lover tripped and fell onto the ground. John fastly approached him, his sunglasses dropped just before John put one of his feet on the boy’s chest. He started to add more and more pressure, defiantly looking at him straight in the eye. The boy cried for help with the air that was left inside of him and he was quickly answered by two officers who grabbed John and threw him against the front part of the vehicle. </p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Lennon!” One of them exclaimed as he shoved the musician against the car. “You don’t want to get into more trouble.” He added, now grabbing John by his wrists and pulling him back before forcing him to enter the car.  During the entire process John continuously resisted and rebelled. He felt as if, all of a sudden, he was seventeen again.</p><p> </p><p>The trip to the police station was short or, at least, it felt short for John. The policemen had been speaking to each other about several nonsense that John didn’t care much about. Once they reached the building, both men got out of the car and opened John’s door, only to find the defiant expression of the musician.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Lennon!” One of the officers urged the man, as he grabbed John by his left upper-arm.</p><p> </p><p>John shook the officer’s hand off. “I can do it meself.” He hissed.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Lennon, you don’t have an audience anymore. You can behave now.” The officer joked with much sarcasm, not only referencing the lack of people on the street, but also the eventual fall of The Beatles’ fame, and held John’s arm again. In response, John looked at the officer straight in the eye trying to look as threatening as he could. The man laughed it off and still helped John out, in spite of his resistance.</p><p> </p><p>“John.” The officer declared, still holding John’s arm tightly and guiding him inside the building. “If I may call you John. Just, for your own good, remember who carries the gun around here.” He added, switching from a jolly to a dead serious tone as he spoke.</p><p> </p><p>John chuckled, as he shook his head. “Yer daft policemen aren’t even allowed to carry guns, so what’s your point exactly?”</p><p> </p><p>The officer answered John quite literally, hitting the musician on the ribs with his elbow and making him hiss and grunt at the pain. Once they entered the building, some people that waited in reception turned and stared quite bluntly at the men who had just come in. The receptionist sat up from her chair and cheerfully waved at one of the officers.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Robb!” The receptionist exclaimed with a high-pitch tone. An annoying one, to John’s ears.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Lisa.” The officer who had punched John replied smiling.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! I see you’ve finally been put in charge of an arrest.” The woman giggled. “It was about time, if you ask me.”</p><p> </p><p>John frowned slightly… ‘Had those two shagged?’ He thought to himself, trying to ignore the chest pain.</p><p> </p><p>Robb, the officer, cleared his voice in shame. “Lisa, darling, would you be kind enough to make notice of our arrival?”</p><p> </p><p>‘They haven’t shagged.’ John corrected himself in thought.</p><p> </p><p>Lisa smiled at Robb as she grabbed the phone. “Oh, I will, Robb.” She assured him. “But I think few people won’t notice your arrival if you bring a fucking Beatle by your side, don’t you think?”</p><p> </p><p>‘But they are going to.’ John thought, once again.</p><p> </p><p>Robb chuckled in response and waved goodbye, before ordering John to resume walking. However, just as he was going to, Lisa’s voice stopped the men.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! By the way, Robb! Paul’s already here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good. We can start, then.” Robb replied.</p><p> </p><p>John couldn’t help but feel just a bit confused about those last phrases. Paul was already here, yeah, but… Was it his Paul? Or just a random pal? If John thought rationally he jumped to the conclusion that Paul couldn’t be there because, as far as John knew, the police station in which he found himself wasn’t even close to Cavendish. But, it was also worth noticing that the building wasn’t close to his own house either.</p><p> </p><p>Robb and the other man guided the musician towards the insides of the police station. They walked through aisles and aisles which looked completely the same to John and, during the entire thing, most of the officers or people in general that walked across them, stared at him specifically. The white colour of the walls started to tire John’s eyesight, which was already shit, and his shirt was starting to stick to his own skin because of the nervous sweating. Finally, after what had felt like 15 minutes, they arrived at their destination. Robb approached one of the many metal doors in one of the many aisles they had walked through and opened it.</p><p> </p><p>The room they entered wasn’t properly lit. There were some windows, but the blinds were partially closed and, therefore, few sunrays could pass through. John noticed a large wooden table placed next to the door. On it, there was an old lamp, which light made visible a series of newspapers. ‘The Sun’, ‘The Daily Mirror’, ‘Daily Express’, etc. All of them, once again, with a similar picture on their cover: Paul holding that fucker by his shirt’s neck in the runway and staring at John, who stood a bit further. ‘We made it to the cover, again’ John wondered, a silly smile forming on his lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, mate!” Robb exclaimed, approaching a diffuse figure that John couldn’t identify as another person.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, Robb.” The ‘figure’ replied, laughing, as he came closer to the light. It was another man, quite tall, just like Robb, but less threatening to John.</p><p> </p><p>“How was Spain? Did you have a good time?”</p><p> </p><p>“I did, yeah. It was spectacular.” The man replied. Now that he stood close to the light his facial features proved to be the typical ones of a common englishman. Blond hair, light eyes, fair skin… Such a delicate appearance for a man whose job was to punish.</p><p> </p><p>“I knew you’d like it. Well, tell me then! Spanish women?”</p><p> </p><p>Robb’s friend chuckled lightly. “Come on, mate…”</p><p> </p><p>Robb nodded. “Yeah, right. Well, Paul, what is there to say. This man is John Winston Lennon and he has been arrested for committing acts of sexual indecency. We based this decision on the following evidence.” Robb stated, now shoving his hand inside one of his trousers’ pockets in search for the so called ‘evidence’.</p><p> </p><p>Meanwhile, John had been unable to ignore the fact that this custody officer’s name was Paul, so it was highly probable that this was the man the secretary had referred to and not his Paul. A pity, really, but, in a way, John never truly or actually had believed Paul’d be there by his side, no matter how much he wished so.</p><p> </p><p>“There you go.” Robb said, handing the custody officer a small piece of paper.</p><p> </p><p>Paul, the officer, stared with a confused expression at the paper. He raised one eyebrow and shook his head. “Robb, this is your only evidence?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. The only evidence I was handed, anyways.”</p><p> </p><p>Paul squinted his eyes, now nearing the piece of paper so that he could inspect it better. “But, I can’t jail anyone if the only evidence I’m handed is this picture!” The officer raised his tone, demonstrating his rising annoyance.</p><p> </p><p>John couldn’t see well, but still he had memorized well enough Paul and his picture in bed to recognize it even from afar, even without his glasses.</p><p> </p><p>Robb remained in silence for some seconds, looking into his mate’s eyes. “Paul.” He said, calmly. “It’s orders from above. From <em>above </em>above<em>.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>The custody officer’s expression switched just as he heard Robb’s words. “Okay, then.” He nodded, with an astonished expression. “Uhm… I authorise this arrest on behalf of the evidence I’ve been presented. Mr. Lennon, please, be kind enough to sit on this chair.” Paul pointed at one of the chairs behind the wooden table.</p><p> </p><p>“Great. We’re off then.” Robb stated, as he started to approach the metal door. “Bye, Paul. Oh! And goodbye, John. I’ll see you in the papers.”</p><p> </p><p>John turned his head and faced the pair of officers. “I’ll see you in the dole queue, <em>mate</em>” The rhythm guitarist lightly chuckled at the hurt expression that soon appeared on the officer’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“Uhm, Mr. Lennon…” Paul, the custody officer, started to rant about the procedure he was going to follow after the authorisation of John’s arrest. The man informed John of why he was detained in the first place, as the other officer had already done, and advised the musician of his rights now that he was held in custody. John just nodded, not quite listening to the utter bullshit the corrupt policeman was spilling. The man started to ask questions about John’s full name, address, date of birth, etc. Then, he opened one of the drawers of the wooden table and placed a few pieces of paper on it. He filled some information about the detention, in order to open John’s case, and made the musician sign a few other stuff. John’s behaviour during the whole thing was absolute apathy and quite some repulsion towards the other man. He wasn’t supposed to be there, doing that and the custody officer knew it. As he, himself, had said, there was not enough evidence to jail him or his Paul so Scotland Yard had turned out to be as corrupted as everyone said it actually was. Then, who on earth was supposed to protect the people of London if the ones who supposedly did so were too busy jailing men for the wrong reasons?</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Lennon, now I will take everything you are carrying with you. That includes your wallet, for example, or your keys. You understand that?”</p><p> </p><p>John nodded in response and sat up. Paul shoved his hand inside the pockets of John’s trousers and took out his wallet, as it was the only thing he was carrying at that moment. John liked the fact that the man who was handling him was in uniform. Honestly, he never thought he’d be into that kind of kink… But he definitely was. He’d have to buy Macca one of those.</p><p> </p><p>“What you gonna do with me stuff, ‘ey?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, we will keep it.” Paul explained, putting John’s wallet inside a plastic bag and sealing it. “If you don’t end up being charged then we will give it back to you as soon as you get out.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I’m not going to, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” The officer glanced at John with a confused expression.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not getting out.” John shyly smiled. Bittersweetly, of course, as, to John, there were no more tears left to cry and no more anxious thoughts left to affect him. He could only laugh at the situation that presented in front of himself and hope he’d get out of it unharmed.</p><p> </p><p>“Uhm.” The officer cleared his voice, nervously. “Mr. Lennon, please, stand over there.”</p><p> </p><p>John obeyed. He stood still facing a big and old camera, who shot three pictures of John in the three classic detained postures. Then, he was taken to the cells, where another officer proceeded to search his body, in Paul’s absence. His hands travelled from and to several parts of John’s body. His arms, legs, tummy… even his butt, something John found quite rare, but… Surely not as bizarre as what would follow. All of a sudden, after his belt was taken off, John felt a big, rough hand cup his crotch. The touch startled him and his body answered like so, backing away. He looked absolutely shocked, an expression that would quickly turn into sheer fury. He focused his glare on the man that had touched him in such an inappropriate way. The officer chuckled in response, looking at John with a despicable expression. A wicked one, indeed.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought faggots like you liked that sort of thing.” The man kept laughing.</p><p> </p><p>John replied to that chuckle in a way that forced the officer to stop giggling. The rhythm guitarist spit at the face of that fucker. The policeman incorporated himself and, doing so, proved to be much taller and bigger than John. The Beatle feared what was to come, he could anticipate the pain he’d feel when that man’s fist’d make contact with his face. Maybe he’d lose a tooth, but that’d give him an interesting look at least.</p><p> </p><p>“What is going on here?!” The custody officer’s voice broke into the room. “What are you doing? You’re going to hit him?! You can’t do that! You know you can’t!!” Paul’s voice sounded more than outraged, he was infuriated. “I leave the room for twenty bloody seconds and this happens! I can’t quite believe my eyes. Did you, at least, find anything?!”</p><p> </p><p>The man shook his head, ashamed that they’d been caught.</p><p>                </p><p>“Good. Now get out!” Paul aggressively shooed him out of the room, before letting out a big exasperated sigh. “I shouldn’t have transferred…” He mumbled. The custody officer grabbed John’s arm and guided him towards the cells. These were distributed along an entire hallway, both single cells and communal ones divided by bars.</p><p> </p><p>“Turn around.” He ordered John, who compelled.</p><p> </p><p>John could feel the handcuffs shake and, consequently, separate from his skin after an hour of constant pain and annoyance. He brought his hands to the front and gently rubbed his wrists. He always had wondered why everyone did that in the movies, he used to find it silly, but now he got it. The door in front of him was opened by the man that stood behind him.</p><p> </p><p>“Go in.” The custody officer urged John.</p><p> </p><p>John stepped inside the cell, which was way different from what he had pictured. First of all, it didn’t look like a regular room at all. Most of the walls weren’t walls at all and were just formed by several metal bars, which intertwined. Besides, it wasn’t a single cell and there were a few other men there. Some sitting on the ground, others wondering about and-</p><p> </p><p>He gasped.</p><p> </p><p>“Macca.” He muttered, almost whispered, as a wide grin appeared on the rhythm guitarist’s lips.</p><p> </p><p>Paul slowly raised his head, not quite believing the incredible coincidence, and connected with John’s glance. He remained seated on the bench he had managed to appropriate to himself, shocked and, to be fair, slightly taken aback by his lover’s presence. He knew he wanted to be with John, as a matter of fact, there was no other thing he desired more than being by John’s side but, for some damned reason, something inside of him felt otherwise. A tiny part of his soul, of his own heart, rejected John and interpreted his company as a threat. A threat to Paul’s well-being.</p><p> </p><p>John, noticing Paul’s underwhelming reaction, walked up to his lover and stood close to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey.” John mumbled, his smile now shy. He could usually read Paul’s face like an open book, but at that moment, Paul’s expression appeared to confuse John’s senses.</p><p> </p><p>Paul opened his mouth, as words tried to form inside of it. A shy and nervous smile appeared on his lips. “J-John. What are you doing here?” Paul tried to hide is nervousness and, probably, slight panic.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, these pricks gonna jail me for shagging a bloke.”</p><p> </p><p>“John!” Paul shouted in a whisper. He quickly looked around at the other cellmates, hoping, praying, they hadn’t heard the rhythm guitarist’s comment. As he did, he also scolded John for his carefree attitude.</p><p> </p><p>“John, you can’t do that anymore! The least of all places in here. I can’t believe your unbothered attitude after what we’ve been through.” The bassist hissed, putting his hands on his head as an act of desperation. He, then, looked back into John’s eyes, the bassist’s expression giving John some information he was unable to gather up before.</p><p> </p><p>John sat closely by Paul’s side letting his leg touch his lover’s, a little detail Paul couldn’t help but to feel very self-conscious about. John remained silent, his breathing seeming to get louder and louder to Paul. The bassist threw quick glances around the cell, in need of assurance that no man around was noticing or would notice. John perfectly knew the effect their touching was having on Paul’s mind and he intended to use it in order to prove his already strong suspicion. As John expected, Paul broke the touch a few seconds after.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s gotten into you?!” The rhythm guitarist hissed, grabbing Paul’s shoulders so that he could force the latter to face him.</p><p> </p><p>Paul stared quite astonished at John. “Nothing!” He ‘confessed’.</p><p> </p><p>“No! That’s not ‘nothing’! What’s wrong?!” John insisted, intensifying his grip on Paul.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing’s wrong, John.” Paul stated, staring into John’s eyes, hoping it’d be enough. But it wasn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, there is. Is there anything you haven’t told me?” John wondered, truly worried.</p><p> </p><p>“No! Of course not!” Paul lied. “I’m just overwhelmed by this. Can’t I be overwhelmed now when I’m stuck inside a rotten cell in one of the ugliest police stations of the entire United Kingdom?!” The bassist grumbled, raising his voice as he spoke.</p><p> </p><p>John’s focus drifted from Paul’s eyes to the cellmates behind the bassist. Some of the other men had turned around because of Paul’s rising tone and his noteworthy words.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck.” Paul muttered, perfectly knowing the circumstance he had gotten himself into. “Let go of me.” He added, lightly shaking his shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>John complied, with a somewhat disappointed look. Paul let his back rest on the brick wall and closed his eyes, sighing. John remained in his position, still staring at his lover and, in a way, still trying to read him even further, to understand him as he knew there was more to what Paul had told him. John’s mind lit up.</p><p> </p><p>“You look pretty darn good to be locked up.” He spat.</p><p> </p><p>Paul’s eyes abruptly opened and sent a threatening gaze to his lover.</p><p> </p><p>“See?!” John said, as he emphasized his words with his hands. “That would have made you laugh before. What is it, Macca? Please.” John pleaded. He wanted to know, needed to know.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want to know what happened?”</p><p> </p><p>John nodded in response, his eyes begging for an answer.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t lock the door, a woman took a picture and now we are here waiting to be charged with a crime that will fuck our lives forever.” Paul barked with a low tone, John’s expression turning from an interested into an annoyed one.</p><p> </p><p>“So?”</p><p> </p><p>“‘So?!’ John, I don’t understand how you are able to remain so bloody calm when everything is falling apart around us!” Paul hissed, coming close to John so that he could lower his voice, but still be heard by the rhythm guitarist.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” John mumbled. He, slowly, started to short the space between the two musicians. That action was answered by an astounded look on the bassist’s face. “Because I don’t care what happens as long as I’m with you, Macca.” He whispered.</p><p> </p><p>Paul’s breathing started to become somewhat erratic. He had always known that as a thing you take for granted knowing the situation probably would never present itself to prove it. But, evidently, at that moment, it hit different. The couple found themselves in a pretty serious position, the kind of position you are held accountable for, for the rest of your days and, still, John was keeping his word. Would Paul keep his? With his thin eyebrows frowned, the bassist’s glance travelled from John’s eyes to his lips and back to his eyes. There he was. John Lennon without his fancy armor of wit, open like a book for anyone to read, for Paul to read. A moment yet so rare and so fulfilling. At first, Paul didn’t back away from John, even though their noses weren’t much far apart and the reasonable thing would’ve been to do so. The younger one couldn’t help, but get lost in the infinity of John’s eyes, especially in that precious moment, after that precious statement. He’d have sworn that, for a split second, both men had been so connected that they could have felt each other’s heartbeats by just staring at each other’s eyes. John lightly chuckled, not breaking contact, and let one of his hands rest on top of Paul’s as a statement. The bassist’s heart pinched, his gaze now focusing on his partner’s hand. His lips parted and, just as he was about to reply, a voice cut him.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you.” One of the men stated from a distance, but now approaching the pair.</p><p> </p><p>Paul panicked. He quickly removed his hand from John's inappropriate touch and turned to look at the cellmate who still neared them. To Paul, he had been led astray by John’s carelessness and now they’d probably suffer the consequences. The story repeating itself again and again. Paul thought so silly of himself. He was better than that, smarter than that, but, still, he couldn’t help but fall into the pits of John’s mind every single time.</p><p> </p><p>“Who?” John asked, now standing up.</p><p> </p><p>“You.” The man replied, pointing at the rhythm guitarist.</p><p> </p><p>John wasn’t at all surprised, overall, he had never been as famous as he was at that moment, but he for sure was slightly afraid. His whole body and his senses readied him for whatever was to come.</p><p> </p><p>The man stopped his pacing and stood a few feet away from them.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m a big fan.”</p><p> </p><p>John’s muscles relaxed as he heard those words: “That’s gear, thank you.” He answered with a relieved smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I’m Will. Nice meeting you, John.” Will said, approaching John and extending one of his hands.</p><p> </p><p>John smiled and shook the other man’s hand eagerly, with confidence. “Nice meeting you, Will.”</p><p> </p><p>“So what you here for?” The fan asked, not quite minding his own business.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” John raised his eyebrows. “Well, an accident, y’know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I know. Same thing here.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s ni-“</p><p> </p><p>“I was in a pub last night just drinking and hanging around. And this bloke came up to me, but not in a normal way, it was more like a fishy way. So I was kind of aware of him, y’know? ‘Cause I didn’t want to get robbed. And the man stood beside me for five minutes? Ten minutes? Who knows! But all of a sudden, I feel a hand on my bottom, just like this.” Will explained, verbally and physically. “Touching me bum! And, well, I thought ‘Finally a pretty girl wants to have fun’, but it was the bloke! So I punched him so many times I can’t remember."</p><p> </p><p>John stared at Will, hiding his sheer shock and repulsiveness.</p><p> </p><p>“Daft, right? I mean, that robbing poofter started it! And I’m here!”</p><p> </p><p>John nodded. “You should’ve killed him.” He joked.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, man. I think I did.”</p><p> </p><p>Paul had been a spectator of the entire conversation up until then, when he ever so quietly gasped in horror. A gasp that didn’t go unnoticed by the other two men.</p><p> </p><p>“You mind your own business or I’ll teach you otherwise.” Will threatened.</p><p> </p><p>John stopped Will from moving any closer to Paul by placing one of his hands on the man’s chest for a brief moment. “It’s okay, man. He’s with me.”</p><p>Paul’s ego tried to take a hold of the bassist’s senses. It usually did in situations like this but, he’d never fought with a criminal, even though he had technically ‘fought’ with John, and, overall, if that man had possibly killed one person, he didn’t want to go second in line. In the end he just stared defiantly into Will’s eyes, still seated.</p><p> </p><p>Will nodded, his pace slow. “You make sure to be careful with that attitude around ‘ere.” He spat, still aggressively.</p><p> </p><p>Paul managed to keep his gaze strong on the man. He didn’t even blink.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure he will, won’t you, Paulie?” John chuckled, trying to downplay the issue.</p><p> </p><p>“Paulie? Are you Paul McCartney, mate?” Will suddenly realised, now quite embarrassed. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry. God!”</p><p> </p><p>Paul remained silent and very much annoyed by the cellmate’s first reaction.</p><p> </p><p>“So you’re the faggots in the papers?” Another voice shouted, followed by the same man’s chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>John’s attention focused entirely on the man that was seated on the floor, all across the room. His muscles tensed, once again readying the rhythm guitarist.</p><p> </p><p>“The ‘what’?” John muttered, his blood starting to boil.</p><p> </p><p>“The faggots. The faggots in the papers.” The man repeated as he stood up. He looked old, not very, but still he could have easily been in his late forties.</p><p> </p><p>John walked up to the man, his footsteps thudding against the cold floor as a warning. The rhythm guitarist proved to be taller than the other man and, from above, he challenged him.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you say that again.” John hissed, his blood now running up to his face and making his cheeks blush out of anger.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you prefer ‘fairy’?”</p><p> </p><p>John’s fist forcefully hit the man’s ribs and the latter grunted in pain. The rhythm guitarist thought that had been it, as his opponent wasn’t much of a sport and his age wasn’t the best to fight, so he turned around and started to walk back to Paul, satisfied.</p><p> </p><p>But an arm cupped around his neck, an elbow adding the pressure of a whole body hanging from it and cutting the airflow to the rhythm guitarist’s brain. John panicked as he gasped for air, his eyes searching for Paul, but he couldn’t find him. A few seconds went by and the pressure on John’s neck forced him to fall on his knees. His hands tightly held the arm that surrounded his neck and tried to push away the terrible force that suffocated him, but his strength faded away as the oxygen stopped reaching his brain. His lips only formed a single word.</p><p> </p><p>“Paul… Paul…” He tried to call in a whisper, hardly being heard by anyone but him.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, a loud thud was heard, followed by a loss of all strength by the man who harmed John. John’s hands travelled towards his neck and softly touched it, checking that everything was alright. As he did so, he inhaled deeply, breathing like he had never breathed before, as if he could feel every particle of oxygen that entered his lungs and felt blessed because of it. He turned around, still in shock, wondering what had caused that twist of luck.</p><p> </p><p>Paul stood behind the body of the aggressor, who lay down on the floor, hopefully breathing. He tightly held a wooden chair. That had been it. John’s shock prevented his eyes to become watery, but they surely would have as an overwhelming feeling of love and thankfulness sprung inside of him. Paul had saved him once again. A shy smile appeared on John’s thin lips as his glance collided with Paul’s determined one. So much could be said in so little. But John’s job wasn’t finished. The aggressor lied on the floor, half-awake, mumbling. John’s mind started to race, thinking how Paul would get away with what had happened when the officers arrived, because they would arrive.</p><p> </p><p>He looked around at the other cellmates who remained still where they were, pretending to mind their own business. A wise thing to do in that situation. His eyes lay on Will and-</p><p> </p><p>“You fat motherfucker!” He shouted at his fan.</p><p> </p><p>Will looked back at his idol confused, not quite understanding that sudden behaviour. Paul, still carrying the chair on his hands, also stared dumbfounded at the scene, trying to work out John’s train of thought.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah! You dirty queer! You bloody cocksucking fairy!” The musician kept rambling, not approaching Will and standing next to the man on the ground.</p><p> </p><p>Will’s look switched from a confused one to an utter annoyed one in a matter of seconds. “The fuck you sayin’?!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! If it bothers you then that’s because there’s some truth in it, don’t you think?!” John stated, now inviting the man to approach him with his hand movements. “Maybe that bloke was right after all!”</p><p> </p><p>Will’s anger became greater and greater. With his fists strongly clenched, he started to walk up to the rhythm guitarist. He growled and grunted, making himself resemble a ferocious bull ready to fight rather than a human being.</p><p> </p><p>“Paul, drop the chair.”</p><p> </p><p>Those were John’s last words before Will leapt on him. Paul couldn’t understand his lover and, for a brief amount of time, he could only manage to stand there, still, watching Will throw himself on John, making the latter fall on the ground as he wasn’t able to support the weight. Will started to throw punches at John, some hitting the rhythm guitarist and others missing his face and body, as John tried to dodge them. Paul did not obey his lover. In fact, he absolutely disobeyed John’s orders as he started to hit Will’s back with that same chair.</p><p>John, who had managed to hold Will’s wrists, but struggled to restrain them, noticed Paul’s disobedience.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop!” He hissed, as loudly as he could. “Stop, Macca!!” He added, with great difficulty.</p><p> </p><p>Paul obeyed, still reluctant. He wasn’t able to wrap his head around what John had stated. He couldn’t understand how John wanted to be left alone, by himself in that terrible position, with a man on top, desperately trying to knock him out.</p><p> </p><p>“You fucker!” Will hissed, finally freeing himself of John’s grip and grabbing the latter by his shirt’s neck. He elevated the musician’s upper body slightly before hitting it against the hard floor. John grunted loudly, getting closer to losing his conscience.</p><p> </p><p>Paul’s heart pinched. He still didn’t drop the chair and, instead, he approached the cell’s bars that led to the hallway and ran the object’s legs across them, making a pretty loud noise for the guards to notice.</p><p> </p><p>“Help!” He cried. “Please! Help!” Paul kept screaming. No matter how loud the noise was, he still could hear his lover struggling against Will’s aggression. This urged him. He held the chair by it’s legs now and swung it against the metal bars. One hit, two hits, thre-</p><p> </p><p>A loud metal noise echoed across the room, followed by various footsteps that approached with great speed, as if they were running. Finally, help was on it’s way. Paul let go of the chair and turned to check on John, relieved, in a way, as his lover would soon be saved. Instead of John, he saw Will’s broad back, who had ceased it’s movement, which meant that Will had stopped hurting the rhythm guitarist, but he still remained on top of him, reluctant to let go of John as he felt like he hadn’t been punished enough. Paul desired to make that man pay for what he had done. He wanted, more like needed to make him feel as helpless and vulnerable as Paul, and probably John, had and, still, felt.</p><p> </p><p>Three officers arrived to the cell in a matter of seconds. After unlocking the door, they entered and two of them walked up to the man on top of John. They grabbed Will by his shoulders and shoved him away from John. Consequently, Paul now could see his lover, but it wasn’t a pretty view. A trail of blood run out of John’s nostrils. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to concern Paul greatly. For a second, he aimed to approach John, to help him, caress him… Assure him he was by his side. But an annoying little voice inside Paul’s head stopped him. ‘Would that be wise?’ That strange voice made him wonder. ‘Wouldn’t that attitude be too <em>revealing</em>? Even dangerous in front of the officers.’</p><p> </p><p>John grunted, his eyelashes lightly fluttering.</p><p> </p><p>Had it been for Paul’s heart, he would have raced towards his lover without any shame. He would have wiped the blood away and kissed John’s rosy cheeks, before tightly embracing him. But that murmur in his mind. That annoying thought that kept roaming around his head paralysed him. No matter how loud his heart cried, no matter how great his need was to protect John, his reasoning made him stand still and forced him to limit himself to be just another spectator of that grotesque scene. His heart ached as he observed one of the officers help John stand on his feet. He should have been the one doing that, he knew it and he couldn’t help but feel extremely guilty for his cowardly attitude.</p><p> </p><p>John wasn’t completely conscious, although he was awake. One of his hands reached his nostrils, which made him stain his fingertips with his own blood. This startled John’s puzzled mind and caused him to start to panic.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Lennon, please, try to calm down.” The officer that held him stated with a firm voice, guiding the musician out of the cell.</p><p> </p><p>John, still not fully awake, nor aware of his surroundings, started to tilt his head one way and another. He searched for only one thing, one man. </p><p> </p><p>“Macca…” He mumbled. “Macca.”</p><p> </p><p>Paul took a step forward without thinking, as an instinctive reflex that he could not help. Immediately he stopped himself. He forced himself to watch the person he loved most walk out of a cell, beaten up, confused and disoriented, just because he wasn’t brave enough to step in. He wasn’t brave enough to put himself into a vulnerable position of judgment because he was afraid, utterly afraid of his world trembling. And when he thought of John’s attitude. How he leapt on both men just to defend his and Paul’s honor… His heart cracked in thousands of pieces and Paul soon realised that, possibly, he didn’t have what it took to go on. He wasn’t brave enough and, maybe, for their own good, he’d have to step back from John and walk away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well? I hope you enjoyed! I'm starting university soon, so I'll have less time to write, BUT do not worry! I'm commited to this fic and, even though I might need a month to publish one chapter, I will finish this fanfic. Thank you for reading, giving kudos and leaving comments, they do make my day &lt;3 See you in the next one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Fun Little Adventure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>After a long time, I'm back to bless your Xmas days with a new chapter! I've finally found some time to write and I'm so glad I can share this chapter with you, guys. I hope you enjoy it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was 10 p.m. and Paul had just arrived home. He was quite tired, both physically and emotionally, but he couldn’t even think about sleeping yet. Paul was just about to make one of the most important decisions of his life so far and, in his view, he had had a lot of time on his hands to think about it. He knew what he had to do, what he was going to do, eventually.</p><p> </p><p>After John had been carried away, he had found himself alone. Alone, apparently, but not quite as thousands of thoughts rumbled through his mind the entire time he remained in the cell. Intrusive mental pictures suddenly appeared on Paul’s imagination and all of them were very disturbing to the bassist. For example, Will’s enraged expression as he tried to hit John’s chest and body. That one was pretty distressing, even terrifying, but it couldn’t compare to the image of John being chocked. The evident terror in his almond eyes as he desperately looked for his Macca, hardly seconds away from his last breath, had become engraved in the bassist’s mind. Paul had wondered if their lives would remain that way forever, always fearsome and threatening. If, no matter whether they’d be released with or without bail or even if they weren’t released at all, they would have to live hell on earth every single day. Would he have to keep up with the constant hate, his income plummeting and his reputation dragged through the mud? Was it worth it? Would it be worth it to suffer those immeasurable sacrifices to still remain in a relationship he’d always have to keep secret? Would it then still be worth it to live in a lie?</p><p> </p><p>Paul had tried to fight the invasive thoughts. He hated how they resembled his father’s opinion.</p><p> </p><p>‘I love John.’ He had repeated to himself again and again in his mind as he tried to answer back. ‘I love him. I love him. I love him.’ And he wasn’t lying! He loved him! But that annoying murmur kept responding: ‘But do I want to love him?’ Yes! Of course he did, he had never questioned that. ‘Then should I love him?’</p><p> </p><p>Silence.</p><p> </p><p>Paul wasn’t a child. He wasn’t stupid or a fervent idealistic. He knew how the world worked and that’s why he couldn’t convince himself that his father was completely wrong because, to Paul, he wasn’t, not in every way. Paul knew that if he was to go on with his risky, secretive romance, he would lose everything eventually. Even if they kept seeing each other in private, even if they put all their effort in not being catched, the issue was already out there and people would soon start to feel curious or entitled to look into it, into their relationship. They might start to search for evidence, even spy them just for a laugh, but, no matter how, sometime and, possibly, quite soon they would find it and <strong>then</strong> their lives would be truly fucked up. Then there’d be no way out. No lawyer to have their back and no Brian to save them.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, in the middle of that mental fuss, some officer had taken him to another room, much cozier and nice, and questioned him about the incident or ‘suspected crime’, as he constantly referred to it. Paul had answered every single question following the guidance he had been given and, a few hours later, he was released without bail.</p><p> </p><p>Since then he had constantly wondered what had happened to John. Was he even alright? Had he been charged for disobedience or aggression? That’s why the first thing he did once he got home was telephone John’s house. Literally the first thing, even when he needed to shower like breathing air and his guts rumbled ferociously.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello?” Cynthia’s sweet voice sounded through the line, after a few seconds of waiting.</p><p> </p><p>Paul wanted to answer. In fact, his mouth had opened and stupidly mumbled words that no human would ever understand. He hadn’t even had a second thought before dialling. Very daft of him as, if he wanted to do what he had somewhat decided, he couldn’t go on with that sort of behaviour.</p><p> </p><p>“John?!” Cynthia’s tone switched.</p><p> </p><p>Paul hung up.</p><p> </p><p>John still wasn’t home. Paul was slightly surprised, but not shocked. After all, John had been beaten up and he might have needed a bit of time to recover. But they would have ringed Cynthia, wouldn’t they? It is a pretty serious thing to happen and any wife should be informed about it… Even if they can’t do anything, just knowing is enough sometimes. Paul cleared his thoughts. He needed to take a break from the continuous thinking, plotting and worrying. He was hungry and dirty, so he decided to run a bath… And take a few sweets with him. As he walked through the living room he saw little pieces of crystal still on the floor. George had helped him clean a bit, but he wasn’t too good at it and it showed. Paul smiled sweetly as he remembered his friend. George and his kindness and support, a thing he hadn’t experienced much since Nice and a thing he wouldn’t experience in a long time to come.</p><p> </p><p>His bath was sublime, just as sublime as the ciggies he smoked during it. Running water felt like an unattainable privilege after his brief, but intense stay in the station’s cell. And his bed... He let himself drop on his huge comfy bed, which was on a whole different level. He’d have felt lucky to have just a cushion after sitting on a wooden bench for hours and hours. He enjoyed his time alone just as much as he enjoyed being in company. His eyebrows bitterly frowned against the bedsheets at that thought. He knew he’d have to get used to being alone, completely alone and, as the invisible weight of sleep placed over his eyelids, he started to imagine how life without John would be.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>*tap*</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>*tap*</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>*tap*</p><p> </p><p>Paul opened one eye and looked around the room. His bed light was on so he could clearly see he was still by himself. Maybe a silly bird was goofing around or somethi-</p><p> </p><p>*tap*</p><p> </p><p>Paul turned to the bedroom’s window very confused and, now, very much awake. He hadn’t heard that sound in years. He approached the window slowly, unsure of how to feel and took a peek outside. He saw a jolly John Lennon with a handful of little stones in his left hand, prepared to throw another pebble. The rhythm guitarist broadly smiled the moment he saw Paul’s figure behind the crystal. The bassist opened the window, still startled.</p><p> </p><p>“Macca! Let me in!” John whispered, still managing to be heard.</p><p> </p><p>Paul’s frown disappeared and he couldn’t help a sweet and relieved smile forming on his lips. He ran downstairs in record time, no trace of those invasive thoughts in his mind anymore. His excitement was just too pure to let himself be bothered by them at that moment. Paul’s hand quickly reached the door knob and, with great excitement opened the front door to find a-</p><p> </p><p>A bruised John behind it.</p><p> </p><p>Paul’s joy faded in a matter of seconds.  He turned motionless, his hand still on the door knob, his eyes fixated on John’s wounds and his expression growing with horror. Paul counted them: Two cuts on his face, one on his right cheekbone and the other on his left eyebrow, and a small bruise on his left forearm… His injuries reminded Paul of what he had thoughtlessly forgot, even for a few seconds, and, to be fair, Paul wasn’t quite sure which pain was greater and harder to bear: Seeing his lover so hurt and bruised or having been reminded that he wouldn’t remain his lover for long now.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t look that bad, ey!” John chuckled. “It’s not like you’ve seen a ghost or anything.”</p><p> </p><p>Paul blinked several times, coming back to his senses. “No, of course not.” He snorted and somewhat smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s been a while since I last threw pebbles at your window… Feels like decades ago, but it wasn’t that long.” John smirked, throwing back on the gravel the little stones left on his hand.</p><p> </p><p>Paul softly chuckled, now staring at the floor. He stepped back, and John entered, but, just as the bassist closed the door, Paul felt two big strong hands cup his cheeks and John’s lips passionately crushing on his. Paul let a moan out, his back now being shoved against the door and John’s body pressing on his. John’s kiss was aggressive and longing for the contact he had lacked the last two days and Paul kissed back with just the same passion, as he had also longed for John and, worst of all, knew it was probably the last time he would be able to do that again. Their kiss was long and, frankly, quite hot for both musicians, who could already notice it’s effect on their own bodies. Their temperatures had risen and they could feel a strong warmth springing in their lower belly.</p><p> </p><p>John broke the kiss, and breathed deeply as he stared into the still closed eyes of his Macca. He removed his hand from the bassist’s cheek and placed it behind his ear, caressing his lover’s hair. John’s lips approached Paul’s ear and whispered:</p><p> </p><p>“I have a little surprise for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” Paul mumbled as a reply, before starting to leave wet kisses along John’s neck.</p><p> </p><p>John chuckled in response, his crotch now starting to harden. Paul’s hand travelled to the rhythm guitarist’s upper back and caressed it, but John hissed in pain and fastly stepped away from his lover.</p><p> </p><p>Paul gasped, shocked and pretty disappointed at himself for various reasons “Oh, God, John.” He tried to apologize. “I-“</p><p> </p><p>‘I, what?’ Paul thought. ‘I forgot about your bruises? I forgot about your suffering? I forgot about your admirably brave attitude and how you truly risked your life to defend our honour <em>and me</em>? I- I forget myself whenever you kiss me…? I, no matter how or when, always fall for your little tricks… Your gazes, your kisses… I sometimes wish this had never happe-‘</p><p> </p><p>Paul’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted by John’s sudden approach to him. The older one, instead of kissing the bassist again, decided to bit Paul’s lower lip in a sensual manner, just like he knew his Macca liked it.</p><p> </p><p>“John…” Paul moaned, both thanking and somewhat scolding him. Every kiss, gaze and touch only troubled Paul’s mind more and more because he loved him and wanted him like he had never ever wanted anyone before, but it had to end. He had to end it and how could he if every time John’s eyes fixated on his made him lose his mind.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re leaving, Macca.” John whispered, now pressing his forehead against his lover’s, their hot breaths colliding and their eyes making strong contact with one another.</p><p> </p><p>Paul didn’t understand. Where were they going? They surely couldn’t just leave all of a sudden. What about the press? The band? No, it couldn’t be.</p><p> </p><p>John left a quick peck on Paul’s lips, calling for the bassist’s attention. “Stop.” John demanded, sweetly.</p><p> </p><p>Paul’s eyebrows slightly frowned in confusion.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop thinking.” John repeated, lifting his chin up and placing a kiss on Paul’s forehead.</p><p> </p><p>Paul sighed as he felt John’s body backing away from his. He was doing it again. John had intoxicated his mind and Paul felt so drunk with love that he couldn’t think rationally and, with John and especially in that situation, it was what he needed most. He needed to focus.</p><p> </p><p>John had started to walk up the stairs and, as he saw Paul was not following, stopped. “Come on, baby.” John urged his lover.</p><p> </p><p>Paul obeyed both wanting and not wanting to.</p><p> </p><p>“But what do you mean ‘we’re leaving’?” Paul asked, actually knowing what John meant, but in need to confirm it.</p><p> </p><p>“You know what a mean, Paul.” John replied, still waiting for the bassist. “We’re off!”</p><p> </p><p>“Off?” Paul replied, now standing some footsteps below John.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Paulie! John Lennon and Paul McCartney are running away!” John exclaimed, grabbing Paul’s hand with great excitement. “And you’re coming with us.”</p><p> </p><p>“But-” Paul tried to answer back, but John made it impossible as he started to run upstairs and pulled Paul with him towards the bassist’s bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>Once they entered Paul’s room, John let go of his lover’s hand and started to open the wardrobes in search of a suitcase. Paul stood under the doorframe, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to encourage him, but he didn’t want him to stop. The idea of a fun little adventure didn’t seem too dangerous to him… Maybe if they put on a disguise they wouldn’t be recognized, would they? And what harm would it do to stay away from the world for a day or two? The situation wasn’t perfect, of course… In fact, it was possibly the worst scenario in which one should have a short escape, but, to Paul’s surprise, he didn’t care that much. As he watched John search all over his clothes, open drawers and such, Paul’s mind brightened. That was it! This sudden adventure could be his, well, their last big and great goodbye. The two musicians could enjoy some special time together, as if everything were back to normal, as if nothing had happened before ending it. Paul was certain that would be best, both for John and for him. It would feel like a proper closure, wouldn’t it? Besides, it would definitely take a huge weight off Paul’s shoulders’ now that the dreadful announcement was postponed and he could actually enjoy John just like he had wanted these last two days. Was he purposely putting it off? Avoiding it? Well, he could be, but, nevertheless it was a perfect idea for Paul, so perfect he couldn’t help but smile as the thought developed in his mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Where’s your bloody suitcase, Macc-” John cut his phrase the moment he saw Paul daftly smiling at him. The rhythm guitarist frowned in surprise and chuckled, happy they finally were on the same page there. “What’s wrong with you?” He joked. “What have you done with my gloomy daft lil’ Paul?” John added, now approaching his lover.</p><p> </p><p>Paul, both softly and sensually, laughed. He also started to walk up to John and the musicians met halfway through. However, little space was left between them. Paul could feel, almost in a tangible form, John’s intense stare. The rhythm guitarist’s breath was heavy and loud, his eyes looking all over Paul’s face, unable to decide where to focus. His juicy lips, his pointy nose, his rosy cheeks, his eyes…</p><p> </p><p>Paul closed almost all the space left between them and, with their lips nearly brushing each other, he whispered, almost into John’s mouth: “Let’s get out of here.”</p><p> </p><p>John instantly smirked, shivers going down his spine and his crotch being, once again, affected, to say the least. He, ever so lightly, bent over to kiss the bassist, but the latter backed away just in time to avoid his lover’s wanting lips. Paul’s expression was cheeky. He wickedly smiled at John as he walked to the bed. The older one was quite surprised about Paul’s sudden boldness. Usually, he didn’t go that fast, but John wasn’t going to be the one complaining, be sure of that. Paul’s bed was pretty big, easily comparable to a queen’s size of nowadays, and it was positioned between the window’s wall and the door, the wardrobe placed in front of the bed. Paul stood between the windows and the mattress for a second and sent a quick alluring glance at John before kneeling, his body disappearing behind the piece of furniture.</p><p> </p><p>John’s mind resembled a 4<sup>th</sup> of July fireworks display. Hell yes, that was happening. John though Paul would have preferred to wait, but… Nonsense. Why would he want to wait? They’d had sex in that room many times before, why couldn’t they do it then? John started to unzip his fly, his fingers not working so swiftly because of his nervousness. He already had a half-erection going on inside of his trousers, but the rubbing of his useless fingers threatened to further awaken his cock. Once he managed to get the whole package out he walked up to Paul and stood next to him. Surprisingly for John, the bassist head was wondering under the bed’s side rail, one of his arms apparently looking for something. John didn’t have much time to react, as Paul quickly looked at him the moment he approached.</p><p> </p><p>Paul’s face was a fair mixture between shock and disbelief. He wasn’t even quite sure of where to look… The shaft that stood ridiculously close to his face or John? <em>Hard</em> choice.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing?” Paul asked, still incredulous.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing?” John answered back.</p><p> </p><p>“Grabbing the suitcase?! You?”</p><p> </p><p>John blinked several times. “I don’t know, Paul. What do you think I’m doing?” He tried to outsmart him.</p><p> </p><p>“How can I know?! I’m not the one with me bloody dong out in the air. You giving it a walk?” The bassist chuckled, the situation now turning pretty hilarious to him.</p><p> </p><p>John maintained his composure, trying to act smug, like he wasn’t the one with his penis out. “I’m afraid I have been misled.”</p><p> </p><p>Paul let out a restrained giggle before starting to laugh loudly. John let out a big smirk too, but didn’t laugh. He wanted to keep up the act.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, I see my presence is not required here anymore. Young man, will you kindly give me the directions to Parliament? You see, my next meeting is being held over there and, I’m afraid this attitude of mine will be much better received in the House.” John joked with a thick posh accent, sticking his now not-so-hard cock inside his pants and trousers.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t say!”</p><p> </p><p>“I do say!”</p><p> </p><p>“But, I thought it was Buckingham who held the masquerade parties, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>Paul’s witty remark made his lover let out a giggle. “Oh yes, yes. They do as well, but I must say I find them very presumptuous. You’d be wrong if you assumed they put the masks over their noses…”</p><p> </p><p>Paul nodded, a silly smile appearing on his lips. John held out his hand, offering Paul help to stand up.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re daft, John.” The bassist laughed as he stood up.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you can’t deny I had my reasons to be mixed up.” John replied, still holding Paul’s wrist, even though his lover was already on his feet. “You can be a pretty big prick-tease, whenever you want to.” John added, pushing Paul closer to him.</p><p> </p><p>“But you know it’s never for long.” Paul replied, laughing it off and freeing himself from John’s grip. The bassist grabbed the suitcase and put it on the mattress. “I’m packed!” He exclaimed.</p><p> </p><p>John frowned in confusion as he stared at the closed suitcase. After examining it for a couple of seconds, he looked back at Paul still not understanding. The bassist, compassionate towards John’s puzzlement, proceeded to open it. The suitcase was, in fact, completely filled with messy and wrinkled clothes, but, even between all the untidiness, they were familiar to John. The rhythm guitarist stuck his hands between the many shirts and trousers and, soon, started to identify them. This was the bag Paul had brought from Nice, totally untouched. As John looked through, he found some garments that reminded him of the life they had left behind what it felt like months ago, but had been merely a few days. First, he found one of the ugliest ties Paul owned. He had worn it in Milan and, the entire day, John had made fun of it’s ridiculous squared pattern. However, he had to admit those dark trousers he had worn it with really flattered his bum. Somehow, those clothes transported John to another time, to his past self… And, in spite of everything that had happened, he didn’t like the sense of self-imposed restraint he felt. No matter what they had been through, especially him, and what they’d go through, John preferred his present self and the present circumstances. Yes, it might have sounded crazy, but, in a way, he felt it was the beginning of something new and big for them, of a better life together and that was and forever would be worth fighting for.</p><p> </p><p>Paul watched John closely, trying to identify his emotions and, maybe, reading his thoughts. John turned to his lover and, with a loving smile, said: “Come on, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Paul nodded and closed the suitcase. “Give me a minute, I’ve got to change.” He told John grabbing a few things from his wardrobe. “Why don’t you go and get your bag?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have a bag.” John confessed.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t- And why didn’t you grab one when you got home?” Paul wondered, now starting to undress in front of his lover.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never gone home.” John stated.</p><p> </p><p>Paul sent an outraged stare at the rhythm guitarist. “Cynthia doesn’t know you’ve been released?!”</p><p> </p><p>John shrugged, unbothered. He didn’t care anymore about that sort of stuff. He had never cared, but in the past he, at least, pretended he did care. Paul’s outrage became even greater, he couldn’t stop picturing the poor Cynthia waiting for a phone call or even the doorbell, just anything that lets her know her husband’s imprisonment was over.</p><p> </p><p>“But-” He started to say. However, he realised he had kind of promised himself he would completely enjoy John these days and would he if he went further with this? Maybe a lack of morality at that moment would prove beneficial. Besides, once their escape was over John would have lots of time to spend with her, that was for sure.</p><p> </p><p>“But… How did you come here then?” Paul changed the question.</p><p> </p><p>“I walked.”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re wearing the same clothes you put on this morning, I reckon?” Paul kept asking.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, mum.” John mocked Paul’s attitude.</p><p> </p><p>“Well you are going to shower and, uhm, change before we go anywhere.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>“No! Don’t ‘come on’ me, it’s disgusting!” Paul, who was still half dressed, started to walk towards the corridor, John following behind. He entered the bathroom and waited for John to come in too. “I’ve taken a bath before, but I don’t mind having another go if it’s with you.” The bassist jokingly flirted.</p><p> </p><p>“No.” John was quick to answer.</p><p> </p><p>Paul was surprised, to say the least.</p><p> </p><p>“No, thank you.” John tried to fix his first harsh statement. “I want us to be off as soon as possible.” He added, smirking.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” Paul nodded, not giving it too much importance. “I’ll go and pack for the two of us.” The bassist said before leaving and closing the door behind it.</p><p> </p><p>John sighed, grateful Paul hadn’t gone into why he didn’t want him in the bath. They had done that a few times before and they’d enjoyed it, but… John didn’t want Paul to see his body. At least not in a few days.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>In the end, Paul might have been right, the idea of John not taking a shower would have been absolute madness and the rhythm guitarist only had realised that once he had stepped into the bathtub. That awful odour didn’t come from the plumbing… It had been difficult for him to rub the soap across his body as few parts of his torso were severally bruised. The pain was especially bad at that moment because the anti-inflammatory’s effect had faded away almost completely. Once he stepped out of the shower, he hurried to get the pills he had in his trousers’ pocket. The pain was getting close to unbearable very quickly and John couldn’t allow that to happen. He wanted to seem completely normal to Paul. He didn’t want to worry him and, besides, when he took those pills he didn’t feel too much pain. Just a bearable dose.</p><p> </p><p>John swallowed the pills without water, he couldn’t wait for water. He looked around the bathroom searching for some clean clothes but… He didn’t have any.</p><p> </p><p>“John?” Paul called him from the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck.” John muttered.</p><p> </p><p>Hurryingly, he searched for a robe, a towel or whatever the fuck could be useful to cover his many bruises. He grabbed a hand towel, big enough to cover his chest, but not his shaft and bum.</p><p> </p><p>“John, you finished?” Paul added, his voice now closer.</p><p> </p><p>He needed to make a choice quickly.</p><p> </p><p>“John?” Paul’s hand touched the handle.</p><p> </p><p>Now.</p><p> </p><p>Paul, who wore a grey jumper and black trousers, opened the bathroom’s door only to find John’s butt cheeks facing him. The rhythm guitarist had the towel spread over his chest and shoulders and pretended to dry his arms.</p><p> </p><p>Paul looked at his lover’s bum, with a surprised smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s something I don’t get to see enough.” Paul chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>John, who faced the mirror, looked at Paul through it and saw the bassist staring for, maybe, too much time at his arse. John turned and Paul now stared at his cock. Paul blinked and raised his eyes to meet John’s. He smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“Come to the room and get changed. I want to leave soon.” Paul stated, his hand placing on John’s shoulder and squeezing it sweetly.</p><p> </p><p>John smiled and chuckled, only to cover the pain of Paul’s touch on his wounds. John nodded, but soon realised what he was agreeing to.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no.” John corrected himself, shaking his head.</p><p> </p><p>Paul’s eyebrows frowned, not quite understanding, and lifted his hand from John’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to take a huge dump, so just leave them here and I’ll get changed when I empty meself, ‘ey?” John joked, hoping Paul would comply by sheer disgust.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck’s sake.” Paul muttered, before turning around towards the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>John inhaled relieved, as he watched the bassist grab a striped black and white shirt, red jumper and a clean pair of pants and walk back towards the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks.” John grabbed the clothes.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Paul grabbed the handle of the bathroom’s door. “Just don’t take too much time.” He added and quickly closed the door.</p><p> </p><p>John had always been fascinated by Paul’s repulsion towards the two Ps: Pee and poo. He could always get away with anything if he mentioned them. The rhythm guitarist took the towel off his shoulders and started to dress.</p><p> </p><p>Paul looked at the open suitcase on the bed, which was already packed with quite a lot of clothes both for Paul and John. The bassist’s hand travelled to his mouth and started to bite his nails, nervous. He had nothing left to do, pack or prepare. It was all ready to go. But the nothingness worried Paul. He knew that if he thought too much about what they were going to do, he’d most probably call it all off and make a new plan. He didn’t want that. He wanted to spend at least one more day by John’s side before everything went down, so he needed to occupy his mind with something. He looked around the room as he thought what they might need during their trip… They had their clothes ready, their books and vinyls ready… Of course! Their guitars! They couldn’t go away without them.</p><p> </p><p>Paul’s face brightened at the thought of something to do. He left his room and raced down the stairs to his hall, where his bass and guitars lay on the floor, just where he had left them when he arrived.</p><p> </p><p>Paul smiled as he grabbed the covers, inside which were the two acoustic guitars. He walked towards the stairs and placed them next to the first steps. The bassist rushed up and entered his room.</p><p> </p><p>John opened the bathroom’s door, all clean and dressed, and walked towards Paul’s room.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s all that running around for?” John wondered, stepping close to Paul and placing his hand on the bassist’s back.</p><p> </p><p>Paul chuckled lightly as he closed the suitcase. “I’m just very excited.” He confessed.</p><p> </p><p>John smiled and rubbed his lover’s back tenderly. Paul, who grabbed the suitcase stared into the rhythm guitarist’s eyes with great love. “You’re ready?” He asked his lover.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m ready if you’re ready.” John replied with a big tender smile on his lips.</p><p> </p><p>Both musicians chuckled and walked towards the stairs in silence. But that silence, in spite of being absence of sound, surely wasn’t an absence of feeling. Both men were terribly excited for this fun little adventure, even Paul.</p><p>Once they reached the bottom of the stairs Paul told John to pick both guitars and wait for him at the door. John obeyed. In the meantime, Paul opened a closet next to the living room and grabbed two thick black coats, and joined John at the door.</p><p> </p><p>“Put this on.” Paul handed John one of the coats.</p><p> </p><p>John put the cases down and obeyed his lover, who also put his coat on.</p><p> </p><p>Paul inhaled deeply and stared at the door. “We’re ready.” He muttered, happy.</p><p> </p><p>He finally felt happy, but was it really happiness? Oh fuck that now! Paul lightly shook his head, evading those annoying thoughts by doing so. John stared at his lover with a sweet smile on his face and remembered when they found themselves in a similar situation a few days ago. Standing in front of a door, scared, but willing to jump into an adventure together, whatever it may come with it.</p><p> </p><p>“Paul, this time you’ve got to open it.” John laughed. “I’ve got no spare hands at the moment, man.”</p><p> </p><p>Paul smiled. He placed his hand on the knob and opened his house front door. His final adventure had started.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you liked it! Sadly, I can't tell you when I'll upload a new chapter, but trust me, I will finish this fic and you'll get the closure you deserve!!! I don't care if I spend two years writing this story, you will have a proper ending!! Lots of love and take care. Happy Xmas (war is over lmao). Bye!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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